


ODE to Churchill

by Jeigndough



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Humor, London, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeigndough/pseuds/Jeigndough
Summary: A story about Delia Busby and her interactions with a non-canon character named Mona. Delia also meets and gets to know Patsy. It's a non-serious fic with no purpose other than to see what happens when a fiction takes shape.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have meant to add a big thank you to J Dog. He's been helping me think this story out. He's also proofed and just been a a super swell friend.
> 
> I deleted my original posting of this story because I was having technical difficulties. 
> 
> Just as an interesting tidbit, when you delete a story on here, AO3 sends you an e-mail with a copy of the entire fiction as an attachment. Pretty kind of them considering they didn't delete the story.
> 
> Today it is June 3, 2018 at about 4:30 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.

Sitting alone in her room gave Delia the perfect opportunity to reflect on the events of the past afternoon. It had all happened so quickly. So, being in the moment at the moment should not be wasted. Reflecting began . . .

Last week, she’d found a puppy training course online for her dog Churchy. He was such a good boy. Most of the time. His constant licking on inanimate objects was a bit annoying, but he was otherwise adorable. So, plodding along the last stretch of the path to Heavenly Hounds, Delia chuckled at Churchy’s enthusiasm. His little legs avoided every puddle as he skipped alongside her. Delia was tempted to scoop him up to make sure he stayed clean. But, no. He was so happy. A little unavoidable splashing wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Just inside the small building with the surprisingly large room, there was a sign-in desk with a woman whose nametag read “Mona.” “Welcome to Heavenly Hounds. Who do we have here?”

The warm words did not match the flat tone. Not to be deterred, a return salutation followed, “Hello. I’m Delia. This little fellow is Churchill. I call him Churchy. He’s my little boy. I wouldn’t mind if we could get him to stop licking. Other than that, he’s a real charmer.”

“Very well. As you may have read in our advert online, we don’t concern ourselves with ‘play dead’ or ‘roll over’ commands. We find they lead to boring tricks,” Mona advised as she pointed to the sign-in sheet and donation box with one sweeping motion.

For the first time, Delia noted with disappointment the bold lettering on the wooden box atop Mona’s table that read, “Forty Pounds Brings ‘Em Round.” It could have easily have been forty million pounds. Money and Delia were not on speaking terms though they did have an understanding . . . Delia wasn’t getting any.

Sheepishly, Delia thought she’d try a tactic that could only fail, but without an effort, could also only fail. “Er, Mona, or is it Lisa ,” she forced with an embarrassed giggle. “Did you know your crooked smile could be on a museum wall? Well, now, how about I give you my own big dimply smile, and Churchy and I join your group without the inconvenience of a monetary exchange?”

The preposterous request and pathetic attempt at flattery fell flat. Mona’s smile straightened out into a thin, very horizontal line. “I appreciate your suggestion, but I think you might find other suitable courses through YouTube or perhaps the library. In any case, have a nice day.” 

Mona’s statements came across more as an implied command to depart than as an alternative. At the same time, Churchy nipped at a nearby bandana wearing Chihuahua who yelped out in surprise. 

“Oi! You! You with the mongrel! Tiggertoo had better not be hurt!” threatened a woman with her paid-for name tag that showed she was Naomi.

The timing couldn‘t have been worse. The awkward exchange, the admission of poverty, and now the hostile dog/human encounter. After confirming no injuries, Delia voiced, “My deepest apologies, miss. I was just leaving. Please forgive me.” Abashedly, she picked up Churchy and resigned herself to getting the hell out immediately. Training would have to happen some other day.

On her way out, Delia brushed past a hoard of other dogs and people, both big and small. Rushing at such a clip, she nearly ran into a tall woman who appeared to be dogless. “Pardon me,” the brunette declared. “Are you ok?”

“It would seem so. How about you? You’re off with quite a start,” noted the ginger with concern. “Do you need help?”

Never too eloquent with words, Delia replied, “Help? Well, no. I should say not. This class seems great, but I forgot I have a place to go. A good place. The best place. I’ll bet you’ve never seen a place like it before. Have a great day.”

A slight smile appeared on the tall woman’s face as she extended her right hand. “How do you do? I’m Patsy. I was just walking by and saw a crowd. Curiosity drew me in. Opportunity leads me out. I noticed you trying to charm your way out of the purchase price. Might I suggest we leave together? I don’t have a dog, so I haven’t a need for a course in ‘sit and stay.’ I’ve mastered those well enough already.”

“Uh, I’m Delia,” she responded while offering her own hand for the formal shake. When their hands met, something made the Welshwoman want to maintain the contact. Patsy’s hands were soft and warm. They felt so comforting. However, social decorum prevented her from succumbing to temptation as Delia quickly released her fingers.

“Hmm,” Patsy responded. “Why don’t we take a walk and see what‘s outside this den of expense?”

Finally, Delia had reason to smile. “Yes. Let’s. A park?” she questioned as she pointed to Churchy.

“Of course,” Patsy responded encouraging Delia to lead the way with a gesture forward.

The two newly acquainted women headed out into the misty air. The streets were fairly empty for a Sunday afternoon. Churchy was pleased to be trotting alongside his mummy with the occasional break-away sniff. 

After a street or two, Delia suggested, “There’s a small dog park on the left just up here. Not many people know about it since it’s not really a “dog park, per se. It’s more like a car park. I come here all the time with Churchy. Since it’s Sunday, most stores are closed and there’s plenty of room for a runabout.” 

Patsy seemed satisfied with the idea by nodding her head slightly. 

Horns were honking and cars kicked up dirty water. One particularly fast car splashed up a very dark puddle that completely washed over the poor dog. However, being in the world outside distracted Churchy enough to skip along without a care. Delia wasn’t quite as benign to the mess. Her sensibilities were offended. “Oh dear. I just cleaned you! You ruffian,” She said, scratching behind Churchy’s left ear. “We’d best hurry to avoid further water encounters.”

After some moments, Delia turned left into a lot of wet dirt with a couple vehicles parked in unmarked places. There were a few nearly dead trees scattered about to ineptly beautify the place, but not much else. Not even a ticket booth. 

“So, how old is . . . Churchy . . . ? That’s his name, right?” 

“Yes. Churchy. I can’t remember how old he is. I got him when my, uh, my ‘roommate’ moved out,” Delia replied with a slight over pronunciation on roommate, which Patsy noted. Delia unclicked Churchy’s lead and expertly threw out a ball that seemed to come from nowhere. 

“Must’ve been hidden in the folds of Delia’s skirt,” Patsy considered to herself. “Such a pretty outfit,” she thought as she gazed at the yellow flowery fabric.

Churchy ran after the ball and grabbed it into his mouth. Somehow, though, he seemed more interested in racing around with it by himself rather than returning for another throw. He hopped this way and that frustrating Delia, “Churchy. Churrrchhyyy,” she sang after him without a response. Reluctantly accepting their normal dog play, Delia produced another ball, “Would you like to play? I promise I won’t expect you to catch it with your mouth.”

“That sounds splendid. I‘m out of mouth catch practice anyway. So, hand to hand tosses will suit me much better,” smiled Patsy as she moved away toward the center of the park happily anticipating Delia’s first pass.

All three of them ran around the park for about an hour enjoying the freedom the afternoon offered them. Eventually, though, the evening moved in and dimmed the sky reminding the women that it was time to leave. “This was so much fun! Thank you and Churchy so much for sharing your time with me. I have another appointment scheduled, so I need to dash,” Patsy jogged over and reached in offering her hand for another shake.

Delia eagerly grabbed on, perhaps a little more firmly than social convention dictated. “It was fun. And thank you for joining us. I hope to see you again.” Feeling the same charge from this handshake as the prior one, Delia felt herself squeeze a little longer than normal despite her best efforts to resist. She was glad that the fresh air and exercise could explain her flushed cheeks.

“I hope so, too. That sounds lovely. . .” and Patsy gave her number only to then become a diminishing figure in the distance as she left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another chapter with more words.

Wednesday was a good day to clean the flat. By glancing around all corners from her comfy perch, Delia argued with herself that sorting through things wouldn’t take long. Besides, living in a messy dungeon wasn’t good for the soul. The only problem was not that she detested the tidy, but she was very skilled at getting distracted away. So, after two minutes of concentrating on the need to clean, Delia’s mind wandered to the dog training class and the park with Patsy. 

As she absentmindedly pet Churchy, Delia looked down onto the floor. “But, wait. A new spot. A little rub should take care of that fairly easily.” Without ever actually picking up a cleaning rag, Delia’s thoughts strayed again. “Patsy . . . Patsy . . . I wonder what her Christian name is. . .“ 

Now slumping further into her easy chair, thoughts of rags and Windex were leaving her consciousness. Delia couldn’t stop thinking of the park and Patsy. “But this is silly. I have things to do.” Sitting up a bit more rigidly, “Oooh. The carpet could use a good hoovering. I’ll get right on that. . . Damn. That’s right. The electricity could go out if I don’t pay the bill. I shouldn’t waste it. Now . . . Patsy . . .” And she slipped off to slumber.

After a thirty-minute nap complete with drool, Delia awakened with a start. “Dog obedience training!” Churchy whined at the sudden alert and jumped off Delia’s lap giving the incentive she needed to get up herself. Throwing on a mac and grabbing a brolly, Delia rushed outside to return to the class. With a new plan of action she‘d dreamed up, Delia was going to get into that class. Churchy was too important. 

______________________________________________________________

“Good afternoon, Mona. I’m Delia, you may remember me?”

“Of course. Have you the money? It’s still forty,” the training matron responded.

“No, but I have something much better. I have the opportunity for you to make even more money. I’ll let you sire out Churchill one time.” Delia using his full name to emphasize his pedigree.

Almost reflexively, Mona started to decline. How often people flinch at the price and start to bargain. But, money is money. More is more. Looking squarely at Churchy to determine his worth, she saw he was a red Boston Terrier. A rare breed in England coming from the States. They are friendly and good for lap warming in the cold winters. He seemed to have all the right markings and was not too short , tall or wobbly-legged. With the exception of snapping at that pesky Chihuahua the day before, he truly seemed playful, happy, and sweet. Besides, the Chihuahua asked for it with his nipping at the Boston’s knee caps. 

“Oh what the heck. OK. He does appear to have adequate markings. I wouldn‘t want to expend needless time on a regular mutt. Since your dog isn’t a mongrel, it might be worth some of my time.” Mona offered.

“This is fantastic! Thank you so very much!” As she responded, Delia considered it may be in bad taste to pimp out her dog. Then again, he won’t lose sleep over it. 

“Class starts on the Sunday after next at eleven in the morning. That is if your dog satisfies his end of the deal. I suggest you take this pamphlet with all the details for the classes. Make certain to sign the three waivers and initial on the bottom of each page. You’ll need three witnesses and a notary. Can’t be too certain these days if you are you or not you. If you need to consult a lawyer, then don’t bother coming back. These contracts are ironclad. I just don’t want you suing me, the owners of this building, the city because they’re big, or my mum because she raised me. Remember to return the appropriate paperwork with you when you return for training. Come back tomorrow. I’ll arrange the mating. I have the perfect bitch and she’s in heat.”

Delia smiled her goodbye and turned to leave. Having succeeded in her endeavour, she and Churchy headed home.

Not having to invest any capital, Mona was satisfied she would clear a profit and was not wasting her time. All too often, people tried to grab from her. They expected Christmas charity, sometimes known as gifts. Last year, the nervy postman hung around after giving her some crappy home baked biscuits. Sure they were quite tasty, but he didn’t even make them. His wife did! Mona knew he was waiting for something in return by the way he lingered. She hadn’t asked for the treats, so why should she pay in kind? By ignoring his obvious silent pleas for reciprocation, he finally left. Crikey! But these Boston Terrier puppies would bring her a tidy sum. The best part was she didn’t invest anything. After all, Heavenly Hounds hadn‘t cost her any startup fees. This dilapidated building was Uncle Shirley‘s. He wasn’t actually her uncle, but everyone called him that. Since he‘d left the country, he didn‘t even know it was in use. So, sitting at the table, collecting and counting money was just complete fun. She’d do it for free if . . . well, she wouldn’t do that. Nonetheless, this was a terrific gig that offered many opportunities just like brokering this dog mating service.

Waiting for the last customers to filter in, Mona saw Churchy arrive. That fetching scowl showed all over his face when Tiggertoo approached. Mona had to admire his no nonsense reproachful bark. Very effective. The Chihuahua backed off immediately. Silly Miss Busby was clearly blushing with embarrassment. She could learn a thing or two from her dog. But, this was gladly not Mona’s problem. 

“Hello, Miss Busby. The class starts in just a tick. Sign in here. Wait somewhere beyond this table. I have paying customers to tend to.”

Delia smiled warmly as she approached, “Thank you so much, Mona. I trust Churchy mated effectively?”

“We won’t be certain right away, but if canine biology is as it has always been, I predict several puppies,” the seated greeter replied.

“I would love to meet them if I could?” Delia enquired with hopeful eyes.

“That is not advisable. Overattachment Syndrome. It’s a real thing, and I’ve seen it before. You’re clearly susceptible. The deal has been struck. You’re getting your part. Please move along. I have more people to sign in,” Mona clipped as she turned her attention to someone behind the Welsh woman. “Next?!”

Disappointed, Delia went around the table and moved to the centre of the room. There were several other pairs of people. All seemed focused on their dogs. Suddenly, someone’s hands clapped together drawing everyone’s attention. Delia’s head swiveled until her eyes levelled on Patsy. She was wearing a bright, emerald green vest with a large “Heavenly Hounds” patch and her nametag on the front. What a marvelous surprise!

“Welcome everyone. I’m so excited to meet you all. My name is Patience, but please call me Patsy. I’ll be your teacher. We are going to focus on the basics. ‘Stay and come’ are the most important for dog safety. It’s my plan that after four weeks, we should be able to celebrate with a graduation party at a park not too far from here. Miss Delia is here with us. She kindly showed me the park and it will be lovely for such an occasion. Miss Delia, thank you and say hello!”

“Cheers, everyone. I’m Delia. This is Churchy.”

From a far corner of the large room, an unpleasant exclamation could be heard, “They can‘t be here! That beast snapped at my lovely here. Didn’t she, Tiggertoo? Poor poopsie. He’s only just coming out of the trauma.”

Delia quickly apologized, “I’m horrendously sorry, ma’am. Please know that Churchy meant no harm. He was just startled. He’s a very sweet boy, I promise you.”

“Hmph! I want that monster out of here,” the unhappy woman grumbled. “If he stays, I promise I’ll make it worth no one’s while to . . .”

“Perhaps I can help out,” offered Patsy by way of interruption. “I will give Delia and Churchy private lessons starting at four after class. Mrs Chambers, you and Tiggertoo may continue to attend these group classes. Will that fit into your schedules?”

Startled by the generous offer, Delia looked over at Patsy with appreciation in her eyes she hoped was conveyed. She then diverted her attention to Mrs Chambers, who was frazzled and huffing with disappointment at the accommodation. Trying to appease, Delia placated the unhappy woman, “Mrs Chambers, thank you so much for your generous cooperation. I’m glad you and Tiggertoo can complete this course. Such a beautiful dog you have.”

“Well, yes. Yes, you’re right. Beautiful. Very well. Don‘t let your beast attack anyone else, miss,” was the best Mrs Chambers could give.

Delia accepted, smiled sweetly, and turned her head to ask of the tall instructor, “Looks like we have a deal. Thank you. Thank you, Patsy. I can’t repay you enough. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I look forward to it. Let’s meet at four at the park. Please remember to bring two balls.” Addressing the members of the class, “OK, everyone! Welcome! Please make sure to put your dogs on leads. If you enroll in the advanced class, we will explore leadless training there. For now . . .” her voice trailed off as Delia excitedly ran homeward to get an extra ball for Patsy and her to toss around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still words?!

As soon as Delia opened her front door, the clutter around her tiny apartment hit her eyes like a laser light show. How could she have let her digs devolve like this? No normal adult should live like this. With unexpected motivation, Delia immediately bent down and scooped up mismatched shoes, dirty laundry and scurried about putting things in places that should have been theirs all along, but for Delia’s long habit of disorganisation. After forty minutes of moving things around and silently thanking her mam for teaching her how to fold fitted sheets, Delia moved to actual cleaning. The mirrors do sparkle and reflect. Imagine that. The rug isn’t a red grey. Just as she was fairly satisfied that her small one room efficiency was suitable for an adult, Delia heard the familiar phone ping in a text.

“It’s raining something frightful. I think we have to postpone our outdoor training,” Patsy advised.

Such a letdown. Delia hadn’t realised just how excited she was to chat with Patsy and play catch. Not one to waste an opportunity, “You could drop by my place. It’s too small for an effective training, but you and Churchy can get better acquainted. I‘m not far. Near Gay‘s the Word. The little blue home in the back. Flat number 2B.”

After what seemed like hours, a new text arrived, “Sounds good. I’m on my way.”

With nothing left to clean, Delia put on a kettle, opened up some biscuits, and waited. Just as the water whistled through the spout, a firm three knocks hit the front door.

“Welcome! Oh, you are drenched! Come in. Come in. Please have a seat. I’ve warmed up some water. Do you fancy tea? Milk? Sugar?” Delia blurted out quickly.

“Thank you. Yes, black tea sounds wonderful,” Patsy smiled and then moved to sit on the couch.

Delia handed over steaming black tea and sat herself down next to Patsy, the only other place to sit in the living/dining/bedroom. “How did class go?”

“It was good. Really, dog training is really people training. Dogs are all too happy to be with their packs and please the dominant ones. So, it’s more about people being kind, firm and consistent. I’m told it’s like raising children, but I don’t know much about that,” the redhead responded just in time for Churchy to scoot over and sniff her out. After a brief moment, he leaned in close enough for Patsy to lean down and scratch his right cheek.

“He must like you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might have something to do with the treats I wear as perfume, or so it seems.” Putting her mug down on the small table, Patsy suggested, “How about we put this little guy to the test? See where he is.”

Patsy stood up and began basic dog training procedures. After making some progress, Churchy impressed the women by sitting his tushy on the floor for all of five minutes.

“So, how long have you been a dog trainer?”

“Oh, I’m not really a dog trainer,” Patsy responded. “I’m just filling in. The usual trainer is in her third trimester and on bed rest. Nothing serious, but good to take precautions. What about you? What do you do when you’re not striking deals with litigious strangers in converted church halls?”

Delia couldn’t help but feel a smile form at the teasing from Patsy. “I’m a student at present. I’m hoping to become a paralegal this summer. For now, I volunteer at the Legal Clinic, and for money, I work at Gay’s the Word, the bookstore right next door.”

“Wow! You keep very busy,” Patsy remarked.

“It is a lot, but I love it all. The job has its perks. I get first dibs at all the new books and meet all my favourite writers when they do readings.”

“Who are your favourite authors?” Patsy enquired. “Please don’t tell me Rita Mae Brown. I read ‘Ruby Fruit Jungle’ at school. All the girls blushed at finding out the meaning of the title. I found it a bit predictable really.”

Delia paused for a moment trying to piece things together since most people aren‘t familiar with Ms Brown‘s work, “Hmm. No. Not a fan. I prefer fan fiction to tell the truth. It gives regular people the chance at expression. I think Melissa Good did well with her Dar and Kerry series based on ‘Xena: Warrior Princess.’ And, while I may enjoy smut, I’m not big on E.L. James whose work is cheap, empty.”

The ginger‘s face lit up. “I know exactly what you mean. Regular people doing unexpected things can be most charming.” With a little hesitation, Patsy leaned forward a little with a small smile and asked, “Might I trouble you for some more tea?”

“Of course, and no trouble at all,” responded the brunette as she went to warm up some more tea. When she returned, she saw that Churchy was full on sat in Patsy’s lap. The sight was precious and warmed Delia‘s heart. “Well, it seems you really have made a friend.”

“A little sweet talk is all it took. He’s just lovely, really. I’m a bit smitten I think,” Patsy replied as she gazed a little bit longer than normal at her companion’s face. Quickly changing the subject back to work, Patsy enquired about Delia’s interest in the law.

Smiling at the cosy atmosphere and company, Delia returned to the couch answering, “I’ve always wanted to make a difference. I think I can do that in law. That’s why I volunteer at the Legal Clinic. Last year I helped an elderly man file bankruptcy. A sad story, actually. He’d been quite wealthy, but lost it all to some poor bookkeeping . . .”

“Bookkeeping? What happened?” Patsy had a quizzical look on her face.

The sudden intensity in the RP‘s voice somewhat startled Delia as she replied, “I’m not really sure. Mostly, I just listen and hand out paperwork or give out lists of attorneys’ names and other agencies who can truly help. I’m not supposed to get too involved. But, well, with this man it was a little different. He was just so . . . so . . . defeated and kind.”

Patsy’s demeanor remained focused with an intense stare that troubled Delia, but she pressed on, “So, I did chat with him a bit. Seems he had once amassed quite a fortune. As he got on in years, he allowed his personal assistant/housekeeper to take over his books since he could no longer do it, having lost his family. Without anyone to help, I guess desperation weakened his reserve, and he let her take over. In time, he noticed that utilities would go out. At first, it would be only temporary. He was told the cheques had been posted, but there had been errors at the bank. Eventually, his lights never did turn back on, his telephone stopped working entirely, and worst of all, he was escorted from his family home.”

Patsy looked aghast. Her hands were fidgetting seemingly with a mind of their own. She tensed and took control of her hands and placed them flat on either thigh looking anything but relaxed. She then fumbled for what to say. “Didn’t . . . didn’t anyone help him? No one?”

“I guess not. Well, not until he came to the Legal Clinic. We got him set up in a council flat and on public assistance for food. He has three square a day now,” Delia replied taking a sip of her milky brew hoping this information would calm her new friend’s anxiety.

“Where had his house been?” The ginger questioned.

“It was in Chelsea, but I can’t tell you more. I must’ve said too much already, and shouldn’t violate privilege rules or his privacy further,” Delia responded.

Suddenly, Patsy looked at her watch as though realising she had one for the first time, “Chelsea? . . . Hm. . . I hate to be impolite. You’ve been so welcoming, but I must be going. I didn’t realize the hour. Let’s hope the weather is permitting next week?”

Confused at the change in her guest‘s mood, the Welshwoman tried to force an understanding smile on her face, but it only came across as sad. Moments before they’d really connected. Now they were both nervous, “OK. Thank you for all your help.” Reluctantly, Delia offered, “If this is too much, we really don’t have to continue. I can make do with online training classes.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve made your payment, fair and square. Besides, who could stand this little monster without more training?“ Patsy teased and stroked Churchy’s right ear. “Let’s meet at the park next week at the same time,” Patsy said as she stood.

The fledgling friends moved to the front door. Delia was puzzled, but brushed off her impulse to question the sudden change. She could hear her mam chastising in her head about always being too nosy. Delia discarded it even though it was as concern founded in sincere interest but she heeded the voice in her head of her mam’s warnings and didn’t ask. All too soon, Patsy was gone with a shared goodbye, a quick, warm hug, and the promise of another meet up next week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on here?

The week progressed rhythmically as one expects days to follow each other. Monday after Sunday. Tuesday after Monday, and so on. Delia went to the Legal Clinic as planned hoping to encounter interesting cases and opened up the stark room with its metallic furniture. No one was waiting at the counter, so she found her mug and brewed a cup of tea to start the afternoon right. It was so calming. Small sips of steaming liquid so it wouldn’t burn were very soothing. 

After several minutes of quiet, the bell jingled as the door opened. That was Delia’s idea. Made the place more welcoming with a nod to former times when electric buzzers weren’t readily available. As she was ever vigilant, Delia greeted an older gentleman with nary a hair on his crown. Those that did grace his temples and sides were virtually all white and sparse. The most notable characteristic was this man was only an inch or so taller than Delia. She wasn’t used to being eye level with most men. 

“Good afternoon. How may I help you, sir?” questioned Delia.

Rubbing his cold hands together to warm them, the man gave his similar greeting and asked, “Is this where I ask questions for free?”

“Well, that depends on the questions. But, we can start with ‘probably,’” came the Welshwoman’s response that was intended to be jokey rather than a bit rude as it came out. Trying to make up for her brusqueness she asked, “Please, what can I do for you?”

“I think proper introductions are in order first. My name is Mr Clarence Bobble. I have a terrible, terrible problem and I need help. I’ve gone to City Hall. I’ve traveled to the police station. I’ve been in almost every blasted building in the city. I feel this is my last resort.”

“Welcome, Mr Bobble. My name is Miss Busby.”

Looking a little uncomfortable, the man asked, “What’s your Christian name?”

“Miss Busby.”

“That’s an odd first name?” he responded with a crooked smile.

“My mam was funny that way.”

“But your name tag says ‘D Busby,’” Mr. Bobble pressed.

“She couldn’t spell, either.”

“Well, Miss Miss Busby Busby, I need some help. How do I sue my neighbour? His tree fell on my fence breaking it.”

Remembering there is a code section that may address these very problems, Delia broke out the Civil Code and responded, “That is a problem. Have you talked to your neighbor to see if you could sort this out informally?”

“No.”

“Do you know if your neighbour is aware that his tree fell on your fence?”

“No.”

“Do you know if your neighbour owns the house and land or if he leases them?”

“No.”

“Do you know your neighbour’s name?”

“No.”

“Do you know your neighbour?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen your neighbour?”

“No.”

Just going with a hunch, Delia asked, “Do you have a neighbour?”

“No.”

“Do you have a fence?”

“No.”

Now fully understanding the actual nature of Mr Bobble‘s visit to be purely social, Delia acted as she always did with lonely visitors, “I see. Well, we do have a perfect solution for just such happenstances. I have a tin of homemade bakewell tart. I’ll brew up some more tea and we can take a break together. Does that sound good?” Delia offered as she put away the Civil Code.

And finally, “Yes.”

As they sat down for their treats, Mr Bobble said with an apparent lump in his throat, “Thank you, Miss Busby. This is just like my own sweet Naomi used to do for me before she passed.”

“It is my pleasure to share with you. And, please call me Delia.”

After about an hour, Mr Bobble got up and said he had other errands to run and thanked Delia for all her kindness. They agreed that another visit would be in order considering there were more treats and tea to consume.   
So, they said their farewells, and Mr Bobble left.

It seemed like no one was going to be coming in, so remembering the strange end to her conversation with Patsy from a few days before, Delia dug around and fished out her notes from her encounter with the gentleman from Chelsea. It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. He had come in needing help. She provided information on available resources and had considered it one of her successes, although it was terribly unfortunate to lose everything to a trusted assistant. With age they say comes wisdom. Sometimes, rather than growing wise with age, defences breakdown and dependence grows leaving more opportunities for grifters to grift. Maybe she would just ring him up to see how he was doing. It was unusual to pursue a client after the case was closed, but unusual doesn’t mean forbidden. However, this was odd. The Chelsea man’s identifying information was missing. It had been scratched out with a heavy marker. Try as she might, Delia could not peer through the black ink to read his name or telephone number. She decided to query her supervisor Phyllis Crane because this was quite curious. 

Delia dialed Miss Crane’s number and after three rings she reconsidered and said, “Sorry to disturb you on your day off. This could have waited. I’ll discuss this with you when you’re back at work.”

“Lass, you’ve got me concerned. We’re talking now, so what is the problem?” Miss Crane asked.

Delia hesitated before asking, “Well, do you remember the man from Chelsea who lost everything to his bookkeeper? My notes have been altered. His information has been redacted.”

“Altered? What do you mean?”

“Someone has scratched out all the identifying information, and it wasn’t me,” Delia explained.

“Oh, yes. I neglected to advise you that the new Board of Directors has put in some new protocols which include protecting the privacy of all our clients. As the lead in this office, it’s been my duty to perform the redactions. It’s been a tedious project ensuring all notations exclude addresses and telephone numbers. While I appreciate your careful notation efforts, it has proved to be ever so time consuming to remove traces of that information. I shall take this opportunity at this juncture to request that you cease inputting personal information in the paper format and exclusively note it in the computer,” the boss admonished.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then, I shall return to my routine and leave you to it, Miss Busby.”

“Hm. I do have a favor to ask, Miss Crane.”

With only mild impatience creeping through the telephone lines, “Yes. What is it?”

“I seem to have misplaced my password. Would you mind letting me use yours? I know it’s . . .”

“. . . Improper!” the ever diligent supervisor interjected. “Tsk. Tsk. That’s not how we run things around here. What did I teach you? POOP. Promptness, Orderliness, Organisation, and Precision. Don’t forget to keep your POOP clean. Whatever could be so important for you to violate all these firm known?”

“I would really like to contact Mr Grisselman, the man from Chelsea. He was in about a year ago. . . Delia filled in the blanks for Miss Crane to remind her. “I know we don’t normally initiate contact with former clients, but Mr Grisselman was different. He was so kind and I’m worried about him. He lost everything.”

“Not everything. He has you to worry about him. I am a bit of a softy for spontaneous acts of kindness. I’ll be right in,” Miss Crane offered.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be happy to finish your redaction project.”

“No need, Delia. It’s completed, but your cooperation will be duly noted in your annual review, even though this is a volunteer operation.”

The women disconnected from the telephone leaving Delia feeling a little relieved and grateful. While she waited for Miss Crane to arrive, Delia carefully wiped down the counters making sure no crumbs remained and scrubbed some old stains away. As she washed out the second mug, the bell jingled and in came the elder supervisor. Miss Crane, as always was meticulously dressed and prompt. It was as if she slept in her work attire, ready for duty at a moment’s notice.

The greetings were efficient as they booted up the computer. It was a dinosaur with its amber monochrome screen. Funding at non-profits can be scarce. The machine whirred and coughed out unhappy noises. The old box was eventually ready for use. Miss Crane sat squinting her eyes at the monitor having forgot her reading spectacles were perched on her head. At the appropriate time, Delia politely turned her head so the password’s utter secrecy would not be compromised. Miss Crane clicked various keys and up came the database. 

“So then, when did you meet with Mr Grisselman, lass?”

“It was around the New Year. I’m fairly sure it was in January, just after the holiday,” the younger woman responded.

Scrolling through the names, “A. Grisselman” popped up. “No. His first initial was ‘S’. There must be another Grisselman. May I try, Miss Crane?”

“Not without your passcode, I’m afraid. Rules are rules and I made them, so they must be good and followed. Besides, here it is. S. Charles Grisselman. Let’s see . . . He was placed in government subsidised housing not far from here. He doesn’t have a telephone number, but I can drive you there on my way out,” Miss Crane offered.

“Usually I wouldn’t want to, but that would be great considering the sound of the rain. It must be torrential and I forgot my brolly.”

“Ah, Delia, what am I going to do with you,” Miss Crane stated without expecting a response. She continued, “Let’s go now. You did clean up, so I’ll just shut down the computer and off we go!”

Within minutes, they were chugging along the streets in search of the old man’s home. Every brownish grey building hid the ones near it through their identicalness. The only distinguishing characteristics were the street numbers obscurely posted near the upper right corner on each front door.

“Here we are.” With concern, Miss Crane offered, “Would you like me to come in? I don’t know if you should just pop in unannounced. It may not be safe.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, I don’t want to trouble you any further. You’ve taken so much time out of your day already.” Delia exited the car with a wave goodbye and warmly explained, “I’m just a short jaunt away from here by bus. Thank you so much for all your help.“


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can this be?

Despite politely declining Miss Crane’s offer to wait, the elder woman’s car sat idling while Delia knocked on the front door. Hearing the car in the background, Delia waited and waited. Not trying to push things too far, but also wanting to check in, Delia knocked again but even harder. After what seemed like five minutes, she heard squeaking and saw the slow movement of the doorknob. The door opened slightly and Mr Grisselman’s head peered through the small open space. He had to lean forward to peer outdoors because he was sat in an automated wheeled chair.

“Hello, Mr Grisselman. I’m sorry to intrude unannounced. You may remember me. I’m Delia Busby from the Legal Clinic. I thought I’d say hello and see if you needed anything,” Delia offered.

A puzzled look featured on his face when he responded, “Twenty and fifty is twenty-fifty? Right?”

With her own confused expression, the Welshwoman asked, “Are you ok, Mr. Grisselman?”

“Huh? What? Look you, I told you never to come here. I have twenty and five of everything already. I don’t need anymore of your tripe. Trying to sell. I’m poor, you rascal! I’m poor. And you’re poor of heart to harass me.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s Delia, Delia Busby from the Legal Clinic. We met last year around this time. Don’t you remember?”

Having seemingly lost interest, the old man’s wheels started to move backward and he mumbled, “Check the tele for “Bernie Hill” and his own twenty and seventeen forty.” And, with that, Mr Grisselman had disappeared and the door firmly shut. 

Delia’s tensed muscles seemed to relax in defeat as she started to turn away from the council flat. Fortunately, Miss Crane was still in her car waiting. Bless her with her look of patient concern. When needed, Miss Crane was there. Always. 

Suddenly, the door swung open wildly and Mr Grisselman barked out, “Dahlia, I know you! Come in! Come in! Help me with the kettle, will you? I’m parched.”

With relief, Delia waved off Phyllis and returned her attention to her former client, “It’s Delia, sir. Are you ok?”

“Quite. I was just having a bit of fun. I like to keep people guessing. You know, guessing whether I’m really in here or out there,” he said pointing first to his head and then towards the sky. “It does get dull around here. So, how have you been, Darla?”

“Well, Mr Grisselman . . . but the name is Delia.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Let’s take care of that kettle?”

“I can fill and heat it up, sir.“ As she walked behind Mr Grisselman, Delia had the first chance to actually look properly about the small flat. It was bigger than her own. The walls in the corridor were covered with wooden paneling and the floors had very old and yellowed linoleum. Must’ve been from years of wear and tear. At least it was clean. With very few steps, they reached the kitchen, which had a small cooler with a microwave but no cooker. Delia picked up a plain ceramic kettle and filled it with water. After placing it in the microwave, she turned her attention to Mr Grisselman. “How have you been?”

“Been doing my things. Mostly reading and trying to ignore Father Time. It’s not bad even though it is an adjustment. None of my former colleagues seem to know me any longer. I ring them up, but they don’t answer. Well, if they do, they seem to have urgent matters at hand. What about you, Dandelion?”

Tabling the latest misnomer for the moment, Delia responded, “I met a very interesting woman the other day. I don’t know much about her except that she likes dogs.” The microwave dinged and Delia fussed around with the tea and cups and started brewing.

“Dogs can’t be overrated. I used to have a rather large collection of them. They . . . well, they were taken from me with all my other property. Nothing is as loyal as a dog.”

The mood turned a bit grey with the sun serving as a contrast with its bright golden rays through the clouds and into the kitchen. 

The Welshwoman placed the tea, milk and sugar before Mr Grisselman for his choosing. “Really. I agree. Maybe sometime I can bring my dog around here for a play date with you.”

“Would you? I cannot think of anything I’d love more than that!”

Confirming to herself she’d made some right choices that afternoon, Delia smiled. “Wonderful. Is there anything else you need? Are you getting enough to eat? Visiting the hospital as needed? Anything?”

“I do well enough, so no need to trouble yourself. I thank you for visiting today. This is the best time I’ve had all week. Sadly, I do have a prearranged appointment, so I have to see you out, Dilly Dilly,” Mr Grisselman smiled warmly.

“Now, you’re just being cheeky, Mr Grizzlyman. I’m happy you’re doing ok. Please let me know if you need anything. Here’s my number. You can ring me up anyti . . .“ Just at that moment, Delia’s telephone dinged that a message arrived interrupting her attention. 

“Hi. Patsy here. Thought u might like to catch a film. New theatre has comfy recliners, serves pints and supper.”

Delia put her telephone back in her pocket to avoid being more rude. “Great. No need to see me out. I look forward to seeing you again.”

With that, the two said their goodbyes, one to “Dimples” and the other to “Mr Giggles.” Delia found her way to the pavement. Seeing that Miss Crane had left as requested, Delia reached for her telephone as soon as she hit the pavement. “I‘d love to. Tonight?”

Almost immediately, a response came in “Excellent. Meet me at dog training as soon as you can.”

“Certainly. On my way. There in thirty,” And Delia returned her telephone to her pocket and threaded her way through the city to dog training.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utter confusion.

Having lived in London for a few years, Delia knew her way around well enough. It was only a big city to visitors. Just a bus trip with a transfer and a few blocks of walking under the now sunny skies, Delia saw Heavenly Hounds’ grounds and peaked in. Patsy was in the back of the room giving out instructions to a woman who looked utterly confused. 

“Firmly hold the lead. Make sure Shortlegs knows you’re in charge. When he listens to you, reward him with praise. He only wants to please you. See . . . Yes. What a good boy!”

Delia couldn’t help smiling as they made eye contact. Dogs. So many dogs and a striking trainer all in one room. The clock showed 3.13 p.m. They were almost done. Deciding to make the most of her time, Delia approached Mona, who seemed preoccupied with paperwork and a calculator. She didn’t want to disturb the matron, but that option weighed better than losing the chance to see puppies.

“Hello, Mona. Good to see you again,” the younger woman lilted.

“Huh? Who . . ? Oh, yes.” Her face expressing obvious disappointment, she muttered, “Your personal classes have started. No?”

“Yes. I was hoping I could visit Churchy’s puppies after they’re born. Tiny Bostons . . . Well, so precious,” Delia politely asked.

With a definite frown and half her attention, Mona responded, “I run a business. I don’t have time to entertain your interests.” Suddenly, her eyes opened a little wider and Mona offered, “However . . . If you’d like, you could clean up around here and bring some dog food. I’ll bring a puppy to you.”

Tiring of dealing with exchange after exchange, Delia declined politely and countered, “I would prefer to visit the kennel and see a number of different dogs.”

“That won’t work. As you can see, we have a class going on. I have neither the time nor the inclination to trudge about for your interests. The kennel is open only for me. You are not me. Therefore, it is not open for you. Kindly wait outside.”

“I thought you didn’t own the kennel? Didn’t Churchy mate with someone else’s dog in someone else‘s kennel?”

“Speaking of business, how is this yours? Details don’t interest me. As stated, I’m very busy. You’ve interrupted my equations and now I must start again. Step aside, Miss Busby. You need to be elsewhere. Outside would be best.” Mona returned to her graph paper, pencil in hand and dismissed Delia from her mind.

Resigned to not getting to meet puppies, Delia waited by the exit. Still, it was strange how much opposition Mona presented. Delia couldn’t fathom why. But, better things were ahead with fun plans for the evening. Better to focus on those rather than a frustratingly unfriendly woman. 

Suddenly, Delia realised they hadn’t picked a film to see. Choices. They needed choices. She opened her iPhone and checked the listings for local films. “Fifty Shades Freed.” Not being opposed to what amounts to soft core porn, Delia smiled, but quickly decided against it. How uncomfortable to sit beside a new friend and watch weak and unsatisfying sexual encounters between shallow characters with cheesy dialogue. Besides, hadn‘t she walked out of the second film in the trilogy and decided the best part of the first was the doorlock to the hidden room? So, that was a definite no.

“Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” Hmm. Curious why this film would be out again. It was nothing close to a financial success. But, Delia had suggested this film to someone on her online fan fiction site. She was fairly sure her assumption that it had gone unwatched was true. Such a great film. But, no. Nothing too emotional. That could be awkward.

Something almost current. There had to be a film that was just out that had plot and not just CGI to recommend it. “Love, Simon.” Not too sure Patsy would be good with a film about a teenaged gay love story without car chases. But, in looking at all the alternatives, this seemed it might be the best option.

Then again, Patsy might like “Ladybird.” The film is also about teenage angst. That could be a negative. But, the Irish star put on an almost perfect American accent with an excellent performance. Patsy could decide. It didn’t really matter. Good company always made a film great no matter how horrid the story.

Delia put her telephone away as the class participants started to depart. Moments later, Patsy approached with a big smile and beautiful blue eyes. Wow. She’d only really focused on the ginger hair and height before. Maybe Delia was shyer than she admitted and had avoided too much eye contact. Well, no more. Those eyes were perfect, even on just-a-friend. 

“Hi, Patsy. Looked like you were having fun.”

“Oh, yes. Today was a great day for you to come here. Tiggertoo and her mum missed the lesson. So, no more upsets from Mrs Chambers. Do you know what you’d like to see? I’m game for just about anything,” Patsy offered.

Delia suggested, “Well, I looked up a few. I think the best choice might be ‘Love, Simon.’ It’s got good reviews and starts in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect. If we hurry, we can make it. I’ll drive. My car is on the kerb in front. Come with me,” and they hurried off to the theatre. Such a treat. Patsy waived goodbye to Mona who grimaced her farewell to Patsy and didn’t acknowledge Delia.

As promised, Patsy’s car was just outside. They each got into the cute blue Mini with a Union Jack on the bonnet. The streets were fairly crowded, and Patsy weaved in and out of various cars and lanes treacherously close to some, and just close to others. Taking a mental note of the shaky ordeal, Delia resolved to offer her own chauffeur services the next time. Although, when all was said and done, they did arrive without a scratch and on time. A great combination.

The queue wasn’t long and the offers and counter offers to treat were met with mutually pleased impressions. 

Sitting down, Patsy declared, “I’ve been looking forward to this film. I love when people can be true to themselves and ultimately not suffer significant consequences. Put another way, I like happy endings. Well, more so in life than on screen, but still often on screen.”

“I know what you mean. Although, I’ve heard the ending is a bit too fast and too happy. Hmm. I’d go so far as to say unrealistic.” Pausing for a moment, Delia continued, “How long have you known Mona?”

Stiffening up a little, “A while, why?”

“She acts a bit odd. I don’t know . . . Brusque? I asked about meeting some puppies, and she seemed like she’d have thrown me off a cliff if she’d been able. Strange.” Delia’s eyes closed a little with contemplation. “I don’t mean to talk about her poorly, I’m just curious.”

Patsy, looking a little surprised, “Yeah, well, she is a little different. I don’t know her very well. This is my first time training at this place.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Windger,” smile Patsy.

“No. Seriously,” Delia’s own dimples made an appearance.

“Seriously. It’s Windger. Sometimes, a person’s name fits. In this case, it seems to. And, sometimes a name doesn’t fit. Like my name, Patience. I can assure you, I’m not. Patient, that is. I like to think I’m also not a patsy.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to call you Pats.”

“’Pats.’ I like that. I’ve never been called that before,” the ginger stated with a pleased look.

The theatre dimmed and the drapes opened with innumerable colors filling the screen. Delia reached over and gave Patsy’s hand a quick squeeze to accompany the new name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonsense.

A few days later and with a refreshed password, Delia found herself at the Legal Clinic with very little to do. Some days were like that. Slow. Delia found herself at the computer doing searches for local activities in case Pats would like to try something else. The Newspaper has a wonderful entertainment section. Delia saw that a revival of all the best British 1980’s lesser known popstar bands was coming to town. Strangely, it even included some who were thought to have died, like George Michael from Wham! Ignoring the impossible, Delia decided to ask Pats if she’d like to go, too. How exciting. She might see Prefab Sprout who sang “Cruel,” Martin Stephenson and the Daintees who sang, “Wholly Humble Heart,” The Triffids with “A Trick of the Light,” Fairground Attraction who sang “Perfect,” The Jam’s version of “Stoned out of My Mind,“ and so many, many more!

Delia took out her mobile and wrote, “Pats? Are you interested in going to The 80’s Pop! Concert at Union Chapel with me?

Now having an idea for a fun activity, Delia remembered Mona and her peculiar ways. With more time to kill before the day was done, and not much else to do at the Legal Clinic, Delia decided to do a simple search for Mona Windger. The name was singular enough. There surely would only be one, two tops with such a name. 

Sure enough, “Mona Windger” dinged out several hits online. Interestingly, there were some older news articles. “Crazed Lady Flies Kite!” and “The Council Cancels Counsel” with another article called “The Lady of Windger Reaches Plea Deal.” So much to read. Where to start? Almost opening up the three C’s (Council Cancels Counsel), Delia’s eyes rushed back to the “Plea Deal!” Plea? That could only mean one thing - a court case of some sort. 

Mona Windger and her barrister, Mr Berthold Cartwheel, wearing matching powdery wigs, exited the courthouse together. After four weeks of trial, including jury selection, the parties reached a settlement in the wee hours of the night perhaps moments before a verdict was to have been reached. The plea deal requires Ms Windger to do community service for 500 hours and use a third-party service to do all her banking for three years. At the conclusion of the three year probation, if Ms Windger‘s record remains clean, her charges will all be dropped. Ms Windger had been charged with embezzlement, racketeering, and jaywalking. When asked if she was happy with the outcome, Ms Windger replied, “It’s a scam. I’m innocent. I want a do-over. I’ll bet I can win!” Mr Cartwheel interjected with, “No comment! Thank you!” - For more information and comments, The Newspaper’s beat reporter William Tells can be reached at wtells@thenewspaper.com. © 23 January 2004

Mona had a criminal history? Now more curious than ever, Delia opened up “Council Cancels Counsel.” Another older article also written by William Tells. 

London’s very own Mental Healthcare Services has been forced to close after clients were evacuated. For nearly five years, London has provided mental health services to the homeless with free counseling and provisions for supper. These services were threatened when one client, Mona Windger, caused a commotion when she screamed, “Hamburger?! You only serve hamburger?!” Moments later, she started chanting, “Beans on toast! Beans on toast!” Apparently, after no one joined with her, Ms Windger began to shove people and even bit a small dog on the ear. City Hall decided to suspend and ultimately terminate its counseling and supper services following an internal investigation. When contacted for comment, Ms Windger stated, “Call my attorney, Mr Cartwheel. He’s in the book.” No serious injuries have been confirmed by The London as of the time this article went to press. - For more information and comments, The Newspaper’s beat reporter William Tells can be reached at wtells@thenewspaper.com © 19 November 2008

Delia was stunned. The thought of people losing a social services program because one person fell out of control . . . Just terrible. How fortunate the Legal Clinic was up and running. Needing to know more at this point, the brunette opened up the third article and read:

On October 12th just after midnight, Ms Mona Windger was captured by authorities while running through Poplar with a handmade kite and key tied to the string while in the middle of an unusually heavy downpour. Speaking on condition of anonymity, a junior constable advised that Ms Windger was trying to capture electricity with the presumed intention of living off the grid. Considering the event exceptionally dangerous for electrocution, an arrest was made. As she was led into the wagon, Ms Windger torqued her body and yelled, “Bertie! Bertie!” Ms Windger, sometimes known as “More Money Mona,” has since been placed on psychiatric hold for further evaluation. As this news story develops, we will provide updates. - For more information and comments, The Newspaper’s beat reporter Harriet Speyes can be reached at hspeyes@thenewspaper.com © 15 October 2009

Just as Delia was opening up the court database for additional information, her mobile buzzed in her pocket. 

“When is the concert? I might be persuaded,” Patsy responded to the invitation.

“Not for another three months,” Delia responded hoping that the distant planning didn’t seem too forward.

Time seemed to creep along as she waited for a response with none coming. Still with more questions remaining, Delia input Patsy’s name in the search field with just one result.

London School of Economics’ very own Charitable Foundation Centre has once again organised a fundraiser for the RSPCA. This year’s special event is called Grooming Out the Grime. The current Student Director, Ms Patience Mount, has arranged a dog wash to be held at Saw Swee Hock Student Centre on Saturday April 19, 2014 from 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. This event will make use of the beautiful new Student Centre. All net proceeds will go to the London Chapter of the RSPCA. Ms Mount hopes to clear £500.00. For any questions, you may contact Ms Mount directly by email at: p.e.mount@lse.ac.uk. - For questions or comments of the Student News, please contact Fountaine Gasperson at f.gasperson@lse.ac.uk. © 30 March 2014.

Well, this certainly warranted a few questions of one Miss Mount. Very impressive and ambitious. But, with just about an hour more before the Legal Clinic was due to close, Delia knew there was one more place to search . . . the court records database. Mona’s past was too colorful to ignore. After punching in Mona’s information, a long list of criminal , family and civil court cases littered the monitor. Mona seemed to be everywhere within the system.

“That won’t work. I’ll be out of the country by then,” the delayed Patsy text stated.

Delia was surprised and wondered to herself, “Out of the country?” Why? Where? How long? So many questions that seemed too much and too soon to ask. So, instead, Delia diverted with, “OK. Next The ‘80’s Pop! Concert then.”

“Deal. You hungry?” Patsy’s text came in.

“Famished. I’d forgot to eat. What are you thinking?” Delia was surprised how quickly she went from deflated to intrigued.

“Food.”

“I like how you think, Pats.” 

“Where are you? I’ll pick you up,” Patsy offered.

Remembering that near tragic first go at riding with Patsy, Delia suggested meeting somewhere instead. After further back and forth, Delia relented. Patsy hadn’t look like she’d recently recovered from any accidents. So, maybe the rush of catching “Love, Simon” pushed Pats beyond her cautious limits. Patsy was on her way.

Delia returned to her immediate task and printed out the court case information page, folded the sheets for perusal later, and switched gears. With a few more minutes to sleuth and a pathetic lack of privacy globally, Delia found what appeared to be Mona’s home address. There was so much to that woman that needed to be uncovered. A good first place would be an unannounced knock come this weekend. For now, food and company were just ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you to ChipsintheChapel for pointing out that I posted Chapter 7 twice instead of Chapter 7 and then 8. Sheesh! I really am better than this. True story. I was the Superuser for a few different computer programs at work. I traveled to a few different locations in California and helped train people on those programs. So, where is that person? That same me, but with tiny skills at using computer software? I'll let you know when I find her.
> 
> One more thing: In my version of this story on my computer, I posted a picture of a Kandinsky painting to be included within the story. His work is in the public domain, so I felt free to share. I'd actually prefer to share Keith Haring's work since I like it better. But, his work is still protected. So, that put a quick end to that. Also, I really like some of Frank Lloyd Wright's stuff. Look it up. Very geometrical. Very pleasing to the eye. Well, to my eye. I can't speak to what pleases yours.

In what seemed like no time, the bell on top of the door to The Legal Clinic rang out. Just below the ringing Patsy tentatively stepped in. 

“Hey there! It didn’t take you anytime to get here. Please relax just a bit on a chair. I have a little closing up to do. I’ll be with you now in a minute,” the Welshwoman greeted.

“Take your time. Traffic was friendly, so I got here faster than I’d thought,” Patsy responded.

After a few minutes of clanking around with dishes, paperwork and a computer shutdown, Delia rushed to the front. “Well! You are so prompt! Good to know and good to be. Shall we leave?”

Both women left the Legal Clinic to find their way to the Mini. Delia flinched, she hoped imperceptibly, at the sight of the car’s rear left tyre resting on the kerb rather than beside it. “Mm. Pats? I was thinking maybe I could drive. I miss manoeuvring through the city. I’m an excellent driver having learnt before my teens even.”

“Very well,” the redhead handed her keys over. “I do enjoy a tour from the passenger’s side. I was thinking we could go to mine. I have some easy to make items. Is that ok with you?”

“Indeed. A home cooked meal? Splendid! Would you mind terribly if we collected Churchy first? He‘s been alone for some time.“ 

“Of course. Let’s bring him with us. I have a small yard he can play in,” Patsy offered.

Delia looking relieved, “Excellent. He doesn’t dig, so that’s great.”

The two made a small detour to Delia’s flat to pick up Churchy, who couldn‘t have been happier. His little bum swung side to side with his mouth open and panting. After the usual potty needs were accomplished, the women headed to Patsy’s. Delia made her way safely through the streets without so much as one angry horn sounding. 

Patsy had a very nice flat with a long walkway to the front door. There were shrubs and rose bushes lining the brick building. Once inside, Patsy took Delia’s coat and led them to the sitting room. Delia’s mouth was agape. The home wasn’t lavish, but it was beautiful. From the wooden floors to the artwork that adorned the walls without taking over. Delia wasn’t sure but she thought she saw a piece from Kandinsky. It was gorgeous. Full of amazing colours just like his other work and the geometric designs. Just wow!

 

After a moment of stunned silence, Delia gushed, “Yeah. Yeah. Great. Your artwork is beautiful! I feel like the shapes are speaking to me. I just have to listen really hard. It’s awesome.”

With a bashful expression, Patsy thanked Delia and then said, “I do love how he uses colours. I’m quite fond of what he’s done. I also have a couple of Keith Haring’s paintings. They are spectacular. I love his work. Seemingly so simple with thick lines and beautiful use of colour. Would you like to look?”

“Would I? How I would!” Delia answered. 

The two women walked through the flat as Delia could only make sounds of approval as words escaped her.

“Are you a collector?” Delia asked.

“Mm. More of a dealer. Most of these are on loan as I find buyers.” Patsy explained.

After touring several paintings that adorned Patsy‘s walls, Delia‘s stomach made an insistent noise.

“Sounds like your alarm has sounded. How about we sit down in the kitchen while I put together our supper?” Patsy suggested.

Trying to wipe the awe from her face for it made her feel childish, Delia nodded and followed the taller woman to the kitchen.

Patsy reopened the conversation that had stilted upon entering her home. “I do hope you like fish fingers. It’s just about all I have because, well, it’s just about all I can cook. If you don’t like it, I can heat up a terrific bowl of canned soup. It’s great in a pinch.”

Finding her voice again, Delia answered, “Fish fingers are great.”

Without much fuss, food was cooking and the two sat at a table sipping tea and waiting for the heat to work its magic. 

“In case I thoughtlessly forget, I want to make sure you know I appreciate you cooking a meal for me. It’s been forever since I’ve had a home cooked meal. My mam always makes me cawl when I go home. It’s our thing. But, a friend? No. That’s been a very long time. I can say with certainty that I will have loved the meal. So, thank you,” Delia blushed out her premeal praise.

Patsy replied frankly, “Don’t be too hasty. It’s a simple supper with fish fingers and warmed canned peas. The meal is accompanied by a splash of white wine to ensure dulled taste buds. A child could put this together.”

“Fish fingers! Those are my favourite! Really! Even better than cawl,” the brunette sincerely exclaimed.

As Delia voiced out her joy, the buzzer sounded signalling the readiness of supper. Patsy got up from her seat and took out the tray of fish fingers, nearly dropping them all on the floor, “Yikes! That is hot!! Do you like ketchup and tartar sauce? I have both. I admit I eat a lot of fish fingers. It’s really a staple here in the Mount home.”

“Are you ok? Did you burn yourself?” Delia worriedly asked.

“Just fine. So, would you prefer ketchup or tartar?”

“Both are great. Thank you.”

Patsy plated the meals, complete with peas, fish and sauces, and joined Delia at the table. “So, how was your day?”

“Interesting,” Delia replied, “I spent most of my time playing around on the computer. Almost no one came in for help. I am curious, how did you meet Mona? She is unique.”

“We used to date,” Patsy answered.

Delia simultaneously experienced conflicting emotions. Excitement over the possibilities. (Patsy was gay.) Smugness from the confirmation of her suspicions. (Patsy was gay.) Disappointment from assessment of poor judgement. (Patsy was gay with Mona?) Each emotion vying for prominence.

Stuttering, Delia sputtered out with a sad tone, “R r r really?”

A smile broke out on Patsy’s face, “No. Of course not.” Offering further explanation, “I’m actually watching her because I believe she hurt someone close to me. I want to find out if my suspicions are correct.”

Relief washed over Delia. Somehow, though, the red on her face only deepened. If Patsy is joking, does that open up the possibilities that may flow from Patsy being gay?

“She’s not my type. I prefer a more dog friendly woman,” Patsy bravely stated as though she knew Delia’s thoughts.

Now breaking into a real smile despite her desire to keep some emotions undisclosed, Delia answered, “I do, as well.” Realising the rest of Patsy’s statement, “Oh. How did she hurt someone?”

“Let’s leave that for another time. I don’t want to spoil our meal. Which reminds me, would you like more of anything? Wine? Fish? Peas?” Patsy changed the topic seemingly effortlessly.

Delia didn‘t mind the deflection wanting to adhere to boundaries. “I don’t think I can put anything else in. This was so delicious. Anyway, I wanted to tell you what I found out about Mona from my time at the Legal Clinic today,” Delia excitedly volunteered.

“Hmm. What?”

“Well, she is a curious woman.”

Patsy’s face turned more serious than before as she asked, “Hm. What did you find?” The ginger stood up and retrieved the wine from the counter. “More?”

“No, thank you. As the self-designated driver, I’ll refrain. May I trouble you for some tea instead? Mona has a colourful history. She’s been in the paper multiple times,” and Delia shared the details that she recalled.

Their laughter took over for a few minutes and became raucous when the powdery wig was mentioned. 

“What could she have been thinking? She’s not a barrister. Why, she’s not even a juror!” Patsy exclaimed incredulously.

“I know! Right?” Delia laughed out. “I dug around a little more and found out she has a rather extensive history with lawsuits and criminal cases. I mean, much more than just the ones I mentioned.”

Patsy straightened up a little and her eyes narrowed as Delia spoke. “You got her court records?”

“Well, not the records. Just a listing of cases where she’s been a party. I mean, I could go to the courthouse and look them up, but that might be overkill. I thought the list itself was enough information for me. The Legal Clinic has an account with Lexis/Nexis that I can use as needed for work or when I want for my own interests. I even found out about how very generous you are with your time and efforts,” Delia beamed over at Patsy.

Patsy‘s voice raised a little as she asked, “Pardon?” 

“Yes. You helped raise money when you were at London School of Econom . . .” 

Patsy interrupted, “You looked me up!? Why on earth would you do that?”

Suddenly, understanding that regret may be taking over for her joy and amusement , Delia stammered, “Be be because I like you. I wanted t t t to know more.”

“So, you thought you’d spy on me? Don‘t you think you could have asked?” Patsy’s face looked blotchy and tight.

Feeling her stomach constrict, Delia responded, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Without returning to her regular healthy complexion, “You were wrong. It is a big deal.” Patsy reached over to Delia’s set of dishes and collected them and then her own as she arose to start cleaning up. From the sink, Patsy said, “I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

“I’m so sorry, Pats. I didn’t know.”

“Yes. You’ve barely asked me anything about myself while I know so much about you. Why is that? So, rather than communicate with me, you poked around the internet.“ Patsy seemed to be scolding Delia. “Look, let’s not belabour this. It’s getting late. I’m tired, and Churchy looks like he’s ready to come in anyway,” Patsy pointed to his brown eyes longingly gazing in the glass door from outside. “Let me finish up here and I’ll take you home.”

“Well, I really am sorry. If I could take it back . . . Why don’t we start over from tonight? I’ll tell you how lovely your artwork is, except that you’ll have already prepared fish fingers and peas, we’ll have eaten them, and we can take it from there,” Delia offered.

As she vigorously scrubbed the fish tray, Patsy replied, “As much as that is a creative approach, I’m very tired and just need to sleep.” Putting down the tray onto the rack, Patsy picked up her keys and nodded toward the front door.

Finally registering just how serious this situation had become, Delia replied dejectedly, “No, thanks. I’ll just catch Lyft. No need to drive me.” Delia’s eyes got a little watery from the shocking change in the mood and unexpected response. 

“Let me pay for it then,“ Patsy offered.

“No.“ The brunette retrieved Churchy and quickly made her way to the road readying for a disheartened trip home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are 2,759 words in this chapter.
> 
> Let's see some happenings in Patsy's earlier life. Maybe it'll help explain her reactions to the rest of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 2,759 words in this chapter.
> 
> Please look to the bottom for some trigger warnings. I don't want to spoil anything for those who are not interested in trigger warnings. Then again, by letting you know there are warnings at the bottom, I feel I have spoiled things just a tad.
> 
> I'm late in posting this chapter because I decided it was a good idea to insert a new chapter even though I'd already written two other chapters.
> 
> I have not pithy comments to add other than what's been written. Frankly, my hunger for the waiting pizza is clouding my creativity. Best not to write on an empty stomach. I remember my mom telling me that she once took a standardized exam while sick with a fever. She did super well because she was smart, that's number one, and because she didn't second guess her answers. Perhaps my writing this intro with an empty stomach and a ready pizza is something like that? Well, it should be, but it's not. I'm just hungry. Plain and simple. Imagine that delectable crust, cheese and sauce. Oh my. I can almost not take it. I've got to jet. Just can't do this now.

Patsy heard Delia utter a breathy and strained “no” just before the click of the front door. Patsy was stood immobile in her kitchen with her keys in hand for a few moments. She’d caused this sudden atmospheric change, but she wasn’t sure she wanted it any other way. There should be no place for lurkers in her life. But Delia? Delia had been so sweet and all around fun to be with. How could Patsy have misjudged the Welshwoman? She was so involved in life with her schooling, work, volunteering and even her dog. So well rounded. Their conversations were easy. No. This had happened before, and it would not happen again. The right decision had been made. Best to nip this problem in the bud before it blossomed into another hideous waking nightmare. 

With these resolutions, Patsy found herself determined and yet dejected as she put her keys back down and forced herself to get ready for bed. It wasn’t really bedtime, but even Patsy knew there was no excuse for more cleaning. Mere hours before, Patsy had excitedly dusted, mopped, swept, hoovered, washed, and made her spotless flat even more so in the event that if Delia agreed to come over for supper her home would be made special for the visit. Her wish came true when Delia came over, and now here she was feeling empty and shaky. So, bedtime came early that night. There was no other way to cope with the disappointment.

After trying a warm shower in the hopes that her grief would wash away, Patsy slipped under the covers. The striped sheets were welcoming, but the comfort was not enough. So, Patsy followed advice she’d been given by numerous people. She stretched out her limbs and counted to ten. It was supposed to release some of the tension that had built up. Without any success and no hope of finding it, Patsy closed her eyes and committed to sleeping. Tomorrow was going to be busy, and there was no point in dwelling on a new loss.

Sleep did come rather quickly, but not without the cost of bad dreams. Her dream was so vivid and precise as it portrayed her past. Patsy’s mind was brought back to her boarding school days when she was fifteen. 

Things had started out well at Westerton’s School for Goal Orienting Girls. Patsy was quite good at her school work. She always had been. All her coursework was challenging enough to be worthwhile, but not impossible to the point of being discouraging. Patsy joined the swim team having been guided to do so because of her long arms and legs. She’d made a good friend with Clementine who was also a good student and shared Patsy’s interests in reading and music. The girls joined choir together. They spent almost all their spare time laughing and sharing secrets. 

After a while, Patsy started to notice that the time she spent with Clementine was most precious. They weren’t roommates and had different home rooms, but they made a point of writing little notes to each other during spare moments. They weren’t too elaborate, but every note she got made Patsy feel special and warm inside. Even writing them gave her warm feelings. She always made sure to destroy the notes to make sure no one else saw them. There wasn’t anything scandalous, but the sheer volume of notes would create a problem if anyone found out. 

Patsy knew she really just wanted to be with Clementine more and more. Because of this raw feeling of joy coupled with fear at what it might mean, Patsy eventually started to write her thoughts down in a diary. She didn’t know anyone she could talk to, but by writing her deepest feelings down, maybe she could piece them together to form a complete picture of their meaning. 

At first, Patsy just wrote in her diary about the songs they sang in choir, or the films they watched. Just innocuous tidbits of her activities with Clementine. Slowly, Patsy got braver and started to note how Clementine’s red hair shined so beautifully in the sun, and her laugh was better than music. Patsy always made sure to hide her diary from prying eyes.

Then, one night their school had a “slumber party.” All the girls got into their pyjamas and dragged their bedding to the great hall to spend the night together. Naturally, Clementine and Patsy made sure to sleep near each other. Patsy could smell the fresh soap like perfume off her friend’s skin. It was heaven. They giggled about the other girls and eventually got very drowsy. Just before she drifted off to sleep, Clementine reached over and held onto Patsy’s hand underneath the covers. Her friend’s warm hand was so smooth and caressed Patsy’s for a long time before they both succumbed to slumber. That night, they never let go.

In the morning, Patsy wrote down all her thoughts and feelings. This new experience seemed like it would complete the puzzle. Patsy wanted to read over the past few months to see if she was in love with Clementine. The diary would tell. Unfortunately, being rushed to get to class in time coupled with the excitement over the possible revelation, Patsy became careless. She neglected to place the diary back under her mattress. In the middle of maths, her instructor was lecturing on another formula when Patsy jolted upright in her chair from a slightly slouching position. The diary! It had not been put away. 

Just as the class ended, Patsy leapt to her feet and raced back to her room. She nearly bumped into Matron Millie and was sure to hear a scolding as soon as the elder woman caught up with Patsy. There was not time for contrition. No one could read the diary with her innermost secrets. Secrets that were shared with no one. Not even Clementine. Patsy reached her room and fumbled with her key. As it scraped against the doorknob, Patsy heard the scoffing from inside. 

Not soon enough, Patsy got into her room and saw Prudence sat on Patsy’s bed with the diary wide open. Prudence was tearing off a page and then without shame crumpled it into her pocket.

“What are you doing?” Patsy found the courage to ask even knowing the answer.

“Having a read through. Who would have known? Perfect Patsy likes pussy. Ha ha ha ha. Perfect Pussy! That’s what you are, lezzo. Dirty lezzo.”

“It’s just fiction, Prudence. Please put it away.”

“You can’t fool anyone. Just wait until everyone else knows, too, dyke.”

Patsy strode over to her bed and snatched the remains of the diary from Prudence’s hands. “Don’t you ever touch my things again.”

“Or what? What you going to do? Hold my hand to death? I’ll bet you’ve been daydreaming about me. Haven’t you, Perfect Pussy?”

Patsy was horrified. She felt her stomach tighten into a knot and feared she would not be able to hold down her breakfast. She turned quickly and left the room. She needed to find Clementine to clear this up before Prudence got to her. Fortunately, she knew where to go and ran directly to the library where her friend would be shelving books. As she entered the library, she saw her friend standing on a stepladder trying to reach a very high shelf. With tears in her eyes, Patsy ran over and panted out in her panic, “We have to talk!”

“What’s wrong?!”

As she blurted out, “Something’s happened. I’m so sorry. It doesn’t mean anything. Please don’t . . .”

In came a rush of Prudence and her two “Heathers” misnamed Clara and Phillipa. “Look! How perfect. There’s Perfect Patsy and her lover, Clementine up a ladder for Perfect Patsy to see that fanny.”

Nothing happens in a vacuum. Although Patsy and Clementine had never talked about their potentially budding romantic feelings, Clementine knew what Prudence meant. She gasped and stumbled down from the stepstool. 

“You need to leave, Prudence. This is a library. It’s a quiet zone and I’m working. Your noise is not welcome,” Clementine’s voice wavered.

As if by divine intervention, Lottie Lowenstein the head librarian walked in and just like the vermin they were, Prudence and her “Heathers” scurried back through the darkness.

With her librarian whisper, Miss Lowenstein asked what was going on.

Stunned from the shocking news, Clementine didn’t know how to answer. Patsy with her chest tight and recent tears streaking her face said, “Nothing Miss Lowenstein. It’s just childish stuff. Nothing a day won’t take away.”

Not having the time to handle another crisis, the librarian carried her books and bespectacled self back to her office. “Very well. Please remember to keep your voices library soft.”

Clementine having calmed down enough to speak asked, “What happened?”

Patsy’s voice was strained as she choked out barely above a whisper, “She found my diary. She read my diary. And, it . . . it had things in it.”

Fearing the answer, but having to know for certain, Clementine asked, “What do you mean ‘things’?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m not normal.” 

“Patsy. What do you mean by ‘things’?”

“I questioned whether I fancy you.”

Clementine’s face flushed beet red as tears welled in her eyes. “This can’t be true.”

“Please don’t hate me. Please,” Patsy responded plaintively.

“I’m not one of those people. Patsy, I can’t be around you anymore. You need to leave.”

The remaining tears that had been silently holding still let loose and streamed down Patsy’s face. More followed in their paths. Patsy felt her world shrink and the rush of unbearable heat circulated through her face and chest. Without any other choice, Patsy left the library and hid behind the barn. It was wretched and cold. Patsy was alone with her fears and dread of so many horrendous outcomes. 

Just before curfew, Patsy sneaked back to her room not knowing what she would find. When she opened her door, she saw that Prudence’s side of the room had been vacated. Her double occupancy was suddenly a single. Knowing she should rejoice, but unable to do so, Patsy flung herself onto her bed as her fingers twitched with the want for her diary. If there had ever been a time with a need to pour it onto a page, this was that time. Patsy retrieved the book from her satchel and opened it. Only a few pages had been torn out. Prudence must not have had enough time to get through more. As she lowered her pen onto a fresh unlined page, Patsy struggled against want. Hadn’t an important lesson been learned? If it wasn’t written, no one could know. There was too much risk with the confessions hidden in a diary. Patsy threw her pen across the room hitting the wall. Roughly, she grabbed page after page and finished the job Prudence had started. She ripped every page into smaller and smaller pieces. No one would ever get to know her inner thoughts again. No one.

The next morning, brisk air suddenly smacked Patsy across her body as Prudence tore off the bed covers from a sleeping Patsy. “Lezzo!”

Although bleary, Patsy was able to question, “Wha?! What’s wrong with you, Prudence?” 

“Me? You’re the one who’s sick, lezzo.”

With an unexpected calmness, Patsy told Prudence to get out. Surprisingly, Prudence did. Fearing this was not over, Patsy still had no choice but to push on with her day. So, she went straight to the gymnasium for swim practice. Most of the girls were already dressed when Patsy got to her cupboard. She told herself no one could see her as she closed her eyes to get dressed. Quickly Patsy tore off her school uniform and replaced it with her swimming costume. It didn’t feel right. She looked down and saw that two holes had been cut out so that her breasts poked through. 

Prudence’s body suddenly leant around the corner and her face was bright with evil glee. She screamed for all their classmates to look at Perfect Pussy the Lezzo. The other girls all seemed to laugh. Some even pointed. Patsy threw her uniform back on over her swimming costume and ran to Matron Millie’s office.

Once inside the office, Patsy shook and asked to speak with Matron Millie. Patsy told the matron everything that had happened as best she could. 

“Well, that is a terrible thing to have happened. Unfortunately, I’m not sure there is anything we can do for you. As you know, Prudence’s father is a very large donour. Without his help, we wouldn’t have had the funding to build the ballroom or the three large lecture halls. I’m quite sorry, but I think you either must endure the consequences of your choices here or return home.”

Amazed at the cold truth, Patsy sat numbly in front of the matron’s desk watching the morphing shapes in the lava lamp on the table to her right. It would’ve been mesmerising, but for the circumstances. “May I finish the school term remotely?”  
“I think that would be best. Arrangements can be made.”

Knowing this was bigger than she’d imagined, Patsy responded, “I need to telephone my father. May I borrow your telephone, Matron?”

“Of course. I’ll give you some privacy. Please, no more than ten minutes, though.”

Matron Millie left the room as Patsy stood to dial her father’s number. After two rings, her father’s personal secretary Miss Quincely picked up the receiver. “Mount Enterprises. Miss Quincely speaking. How may I help you?”

“Miss Quincely, it’s Patsy. Is my father available?”

“Hello, Patience. I’m sorry, but Mr Mount is away on business. He will not be returning for five weeks. May I help you?”

“Please contact my father and let him know I’ll be coming home early this year.”

“I will. When do you intend to return?”

Knowing a more complete story would ultimately be required, Patsy sighed, “As soon as possible.”

“Very well. Everything will be ready for your return.”

Miss Quincely and Patsy bade their formal farewells and put their receivers down into their respective cradles.

Before she knew it, Patsy was returning to her father’s home in Chelsea. It was a large estate, but not large enough to buy a ballroom and three lecture halls. Just large enough to require a full time staff and keep a child’s room and life quite separate from a parent’s room and life.

Two days later, Patsy disembarked from the train, to find no one was waiting for her. This was the custom. Patsy was expected to fend for herself. It built character. At least that’s what her father had told her. As she walked the long brick drive up to the house, the old feelings of loneliness compounded her recent misery from boarding school. It was a beautiful home, but it was devoid of human kindness, warmth. Still, sterility was preferable to the torture of Prudence and her peers. 

As soon as she reached the entrance, she saw the red paint on the door. Big lettering spelling out, “PATSY THE LEZ. . .” Milford the Butler was busy trying to wash the offending words from the door. He glanced up at Patsy and immediately stood to offer a big hug. He’d been a part of the family for longer than Patsy had. His burly arms squeezed tight and Patsy broke into more tears when she’d thought there were no more.

“Darling Patsy. I don’t know what’s happened, but this is an outrage. Hurry. Come in. Let me take your bags.”

The following week, Patsy got “anonymous” mail. It read, “Hey, Lezzo. Surprised you got found? A simple internet search is all it took. Just remember to watch out for more surprises.”

Before her dreams had a chance of inflicting more torture, Patsy awakened suddenly with sweat drenching her pyjamas. She shivered from the chill and tried to blink away the refreshed memories. Delia couldn’t be like Prudence. Her face was so innocent and her excitement to share her findings about Patsy’s uni days seemed so genuine. Prudence had never been a friend. She started out being an annoying pest who then became a traumatiser.

This all had to be sorted. But, that thorough consideration of all the facts would just have to wait. For now, Patsy had to ready herself for her full workday. Despite feeling the effects of her dream and the evening before, Patsy got up and prepared herself for an important business meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some homophobia and bullying in this chapter.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia calls her mam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are about 1793 words. I can't remember precisely, but it's close. To remember precisely, I'd have to reopen my ancient word processing program (Works). I'm not inclined to, so "about" is what will be. 
> 
> It’s June 17, 2018. 
> 
> OK. I looked it up. It's 1,796. If I were on The Price is Right, I might be bringing home a brand new . . . tax bill! That's right, folks! (WARNING: I do not work for the IRS. I am only a humble citizen who does not know what she's talking about.) Beware of the ever tantalizing prize winnings. You are the one who ends up almost paying full price when you get that hideous tax bill. So true. The vendor who "donated" the fully loaded Ford Fiesta jacks up the supposed price so the dealer can take a huge and unwarranted tax break. Meanwhile, you pay a huge bill when tax time comes. So, you pay more money for a car you may not have ever wanted in the first place. That "Prize" tag is very tempting. I think the better course would be to turn down the jalopy and take the money. (AGAIN: I do not work for the IRS or any tax agency in any country, region, domain, land mass or even on Waterworld. I am not an expert. I am just opinionated.)
> 
> So, I tried to watch "I Tonya." First things first, it really does look good. I mean really good. Like great kind of good. But! It's so stressful. SPOILERS: Stop reading this intro now if you're interested in watching the movie and haven't yet. Just jump to the story below. Allison Janney is awesome. She is crass, mean, direct, and abusive. In one scene, she hits Tonya on the bad of her shoulders with something. I'm not sure if it was a wire hanger, but it was something. Tonya was a child at the time that happened. The interesting part of that for me was that I think I could see the shape of the foam protecting the actress. I swear. It was just like "Mommie Dearest." If you haven't seen that movie, it's a cult classic. Not for its quality but for things like being able to see the shape of the foam under the child actress' costume who was playing Christina Crawford when she was getting hit by a wire hanger by her "mommie dearest," AKA Joan Crawford. A very, very famous scene. One would think, that is I would think, that after about 35 years between Mommie Dearest and I Tonya, you'd think Hollywood would do a better job of hiding the foam protection under a child actress' costume. Seriously. Putting that aside from "I Tonya," the acting is terrific. the story interesting. I just don't want to watch a child get abused. So, that was the end of that for me.
> 
> I had a disturbing day yesterday. I was home alone minding my own business. The television was not on. So, there was no noise going on. Someone knocked on my front door. I didn't answer. Then, the person knocked again. Thinking that if I didn't answer, whoever it was might then break in thinking no one was home. So, I asked who it was without opening the door. I could not see anyone through the peephole since it faces the sun. I don't have the highest pitched voice, but it would not be mistaken for a man's. He asked me who pays the gas bill. Keep in mind that I am currently living in an apartment, so I have no control over the gas bill other than to pay or not to pay. I guess the same can be said for my house that I own in some other part of the state. I can't pick and choose my gas company. Anyway, I said that my husband pays for it. I don't have a husband. I have never had a husband and unless I have a clone, I will never have a husband. He asked for my husband. I said he was busy. So, he immediately assumed my husband was on vacation. I repeated that my husband was busy, and that he was not on vacation. My apartment is not large, so I wasn't fooling anyone. The guy would not leave. This entire conversation was through a closed door. A door that lets the breeze whip through the obvious space between the frame and the door. I could probably kick the door down without much fuss. As he was leaving, he promised to return later. I returned to my comfortable recliner and fretted. After about ten minutes, I packed up some bare essentials and checked into a nearby hotel. This was not ideal and not as cheap as staying at home would have been. I could've gone to my girlfriend's place, but she's out of town. I have no answers for this. I don't live in a bad neighborhood. But, crime happens everywhere. So, although I enjoyed the treat of a hotel bed, pouring out money because I got a little spooked is not the best. 
> 
> Now, to the story. . .

Thirty minutes after leaving Patsy‘s, Delia found herself on her own sofa with Churchy snuggled in her lap. He was the most generous consoler; never questioning her pain and just being a warm comfort. His little chest breathed in and out while his compassionate brown eyes gazed upward toward Delia.

“What happened, Churchy? Everyone uses the internet for everything? I pay bills, I renew licences, I buy shoes. Everything. Why, even Mam does ev . . .” Delia’s eyes opened a little as she sniffled when she realised, “Mam.”

Not one to waste a moment, Delia took out her mobile and rang her mother, “Mam? It’s me. Delia.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you. You know your father’s birthday is around the corner . . .”

“Four months is not around the corner,” Delia corrected.

“You can never be too prepared.”

“Mam, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh no. What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice. Did something happen at work or school? Have you been eating well? Are you sleeping ok? What? What’s happened, cariad? You should come home and stay for a spell. This is your home, too.”

Feeling the rush of love from her mother both dried a few tears and created new ones. Choked up, Delia reluctantly answered, “No, Mam. I‘m too busy for a visit. Besides, it‘s nothing to do with my routine.”

“Well then, what is it, Delia?” the soothing concern poured through the phone lines.

“I’ve met someone. . .”

“You have!? That’s wonderful!” Then, directing questions off to the side, “Carwyn! Did you know Delia has a new boyfriend?!! Carwyn?!? Oh, my silly, muddled mind. He’s not home right now. Dear, what‘s his name and why are you upset when you’ve met someone?”

With her grip tightening on the mobile, “No, Mam. No. I don’t have a boyfriend. We’ve been over this bef . . .”

“Oh, sweetheart. A mother can dream. I want you to be happy, and I want grandchildren.”

Annoyed by the routine and fruitless requests for a gentleman caller in her life, Delia somewhat sharply explained, “I did meet someone, but she’s not a boy or a man. I’ve met a woman. Her name is Patsy. I think . . . well, I thought we might be able to have something real. Now, I think I’ve ruined it.” The tension in Delia’s voice made her voice crackle.

“Cariad, what could you have done? You’re perfect,” her mother lovingly said.

Feeling a little fatigued with the events from Patsy’s place, and now having to go through their “straight man routine,” Delia explained, “Truth is I don’t know her that well. But, she’s beautiful. She’s tall and elegant. She’s got gorgeous red hair and light blue eyes . . .”

“Is she a model or something? Sounds like a wish list for a mannequin. What is her substance?”

Blushing a little at her mother’s implication that Delia’s priorities were askew, she corrected herself by adding, “These are the first things you see. But, she’s smart and funny. She has gorgeous taste in art and is so generous with her time. She’s been taking extra time on her own to help me train Churchy.”

At the sound of his name, the dog opened his eyes and licked Delia’s leg seemingly to show his pleasure at being included. Never to deprive him of his due, Delia warmly rubbed his head causing him lean to in to her hand.

“The only downside to her is she drives like an eight-year-old who’s been up all night watching ‘Operation Ouch!’ thinking she needs to rush to the A&E to handle an emergency on her own.”

“Come home, sweetheart. I want you safe and here with me. With me and your tad. There are no maniacs on the roads and there’s always fresh cooking made just for you.”

Feeling a little stronger, Delia continued, “Mam, I can’t go to Wales right now. I’ve got too much going on with work and school. London is my home now. It has my work, my future.”

“You don’t care how you hurt your mother. You are Welsh through and through. No amount of smog, traffic or construction can take that from you.”

“Mam. Please. I just need you to listen. Just for a minute.”

“OK. Yes. What is it about this . . . Patsy? What happened?

Relaxing a little, she stretched out her legs and hoped no more lectures would be forthcoming. Delia continued, “Churchy and I were in her flat for supper. We had been laughing and just enjoying the evening with good conversation. Then, when I told her how I’d looked her up on Google, her demeanour completely changed. Her body stiffened, froze. Her eyes got small. She suddenly jumped up and started washing dishes almost viciously. I thought the patterns on her plates would be rubbed out. I mean, she nearly made the sparkle on the dishes beat out the sparkle. Basically, she was angry because I think she felt a breach of trust or something when I used the internet to find out stuff about her.”

“That‘s strange.”

“Maybe I should apologise. But, really, everyone does it. There is so much information out there ready at your fingertips.”

“Does that make it right? Everyone used to snort the cocaine medicinally. That wasn’t ok. No, you need to talk to her. Ring her first thing in the morning and let her know how you feel. Have you told her that yet?” 

With a shrug of her shoulders, Delia remained silent.

With a knowing and accusatory tone, Mrs Busby asked, “Delia . . . ? Have you?”

“No, Mam. It’s too soon for exclamations of emotion. I just don’t want to lose the chance for what may be.”

“It’s never too soon for honesty, dear. A dose of it and not the cocaine will do you good. If she’s not interested, you will find out. If she is, you’ll find that out, too. It’s always better knowing. The hardest parts are anticipating the unknown and assuming the worst.”

Feeling comforted by her mother’s attention and advice, Delia returned to her story. “So, after Pats made her dishes shine like none I’d seen before, Churchy and I took Lyft home.”

“What?! She didn’t take you home? What kind of gentlewoman does that? She deserted you. No, cariad, you may not meet up with her again. I forbid it.”

Rolling her eyes at the absurd restriction, “Mam. I’m 24.”

“It’s only by the grace of G-d you’ll make it to 25 if you see her again.”

“We’re not even dating. I just said I’m interested in her.”

“Must you use that language when talking about a woman?”

“How long before you accept me?”

“I love you and accept you. But, life would be so much easier if you just did what everyone wants you to do and married a man. I worry about you. If this Patsy were a man, he would never have left you in such a big city to fend for yourself.”

Tiring of this ever returning lecture, Delia’s voice became a little harsher than normal especially with her mother, “I am never going to marry a man. Never.”

“OK. Yes, I know. I know. But remember, never is a long time. I thought I would never sing in the church choir, but look at me now. I’m fourth alternate after that tone deaf Gweenie Thomas. I swear I don’t know how she beat me out.”

“There’s a big difference between mustering up the courage to sing in front of other people and being true to yourself, Mam. I just want to be happy.”

“Yes, dear. I want that, too.”

“So, please stop trying to argue the gay out of me.”

With a sheepish tone to her voice, “I’m sorry, cariad. It’s hard for me to change, too. Is there anything I can do for you? I could visit!”

“Mmm. That wouldn’t be good right now. I really am very busy. How about I come home after this school year?” Delia suggested.

“Are you sure? I can make your favorite foods. I can clean your flat. It’s a disaster, isn’t it?”

Brightening up a little, “Well, in fact it isn’t. I cleaned it up.”

Impressed and still a little doubtful, “Really? Why’d you do that?”

“Honestly, meeting Pats inspired me. After our first conversation, I knew I could never have her visit with all my knickers lying about. So, I put things away. I mean really away and not just stuffed into cupboards and under the sparse furniture I have. And now that I’ve been to her flat, well, it’s immaculate. So, I know I was right.“ For the first time since she left Patsy‘s home, Delia’s smile spread across her face at the memory of cleaning for Patsy.

“I may have to rethink this Pats person. If she’s that important to you, she has to have something special.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Mam.” Finally feeling better, “Listen, I should go to bed now. It’s rather late and I have to work tomorrow.”

“OK, sweetheart. Just know I love you. We love you. Come home sooner than later. There is always a place for you here. I won’t push. I’ll work on that. Would you like me to sing you a song?”

Maybe more for herself than for her mam, “OK.”

With a high pitched and shrill voice, the tune not matching the traditional version, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow . . . Everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went . . .”

Joining in with her mother, the two Busby women sang out, “Everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go!”

They finished with giggles and warm smiles from London to Pembrokeshire and back.

“I love you, Delia. You are wonderful and any man . . . woman would be lucky to have you. You’re brilliant, beautiful, compassionate, you are perfect. You are my little lamb.”

“Thank you, Mam. I love you, too. Tell Tad I love him and miss him.”

“Of course. Sleep well, cariad.”

“Goodbye, Mam.”

The two Welshwomen disconnected from their conversation. Delia hugged Churchy closer and Delia could swear she almost heard him purr. His happiness helped bring her some more of her own. The hour was late, and there was work tomorrow. After all the ups and downs of the day, Delia suddenly accepted her exhaustion and readied for bed. Snuggling down under the duvet with Churchy, the race was on to who would snore first. For the first time in a long time, it might’ve been Delia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was younger, I would call my mom whenever anything bad happened. I figured Delia would not be any different. I know that in canon, her mother is controlling. I tried to sprinkle a little of that in here, but my Mrs Busby is not truly a Mrs Busby who complains about the cold butter. One of my brothers called my mom for MONTHS and MONTHS after his boyfriend broke up with him. I mean every night. She soothed and listened. I would not have had the patience. I'm not saying she was perfect, but she was there in an emotional crisis.
> 
> If you have any questions about why I did or did not do something, ask me. I might answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are 2,022 words in this chapter. It's June 26, 2018 at about 8:15 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.
> 
> Delia goes to work at Gay's the Word, the bookstore. Not a very interesting day until her last customer comes in. Also, Delia has dinner with Mr Grisselman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever think you're too old to be making the same mistakes? I know I do. I went to a book club meeting this evening. It was my first time with this group. I hadn't read the book. That was not the mistake I'm talking about. Although, I have done that before in a different book club. So, I got to the meeting about twenty minutes early and waited. After a few minutes, a man came in looking around seemingly for a book club. I was right. We made our introductions. We were talking about not much when he asked me what types of things I read. Truth be told, not much. So, I told him fan fiction. A few more sentences were exchanged when he commented in some way that fan fiction is about sex. I said it was not necessarily so. There are stories with sex and stories without sex. I told him that "slash fiction," started with Star Trek, I believe. They shipped Spock and Captain Kirk. That's what I recall. I wish to emphasize to you, AO3 Readers that first, I do not read all about Spock and Captain Kirk shipping. Second, I do not read M/M fan fiction. Third, I do not chat with strange men about sex. I should add that I do not chat with strange women about it either. I'm perfectly fine with M/M fan fiction for others. Just not for me and definitely not for conversation with a stranger. 
> 
> Well, the conversation went worse from there. I majored in Philosophy in college. Why? Good question that could take pages of thought, but won't. I did it because I didn't know what else to major in. Simple. Anyway, he's in another group that discusses philosophical stuff on Sundays. I have to admit right here that I remember nothing about philosophy. It's shocking that capacity of my mind to forget. I mean I know nothing. I'm not proud of this, but it's true. So, he's telling me they call the group "Hemlock." He asks me if I know why. I do not. I should, but I do not. Apparently, of the entire realm of philosophy that I've forgotten, includes the fact that Socrates was forced to swallow hemlock to kill himself. Rather than answer the question, he looked at me startled and judgmentally about my ignorance. It was fun. OK, it was not. I told him it would be best if he just told me who swallowed it rather than quiz me. I can't remember my exact words, but they were along those lines. 
> 
> The story gets worse. The guy belongs to a jazz band and said he could not longer participate in this book club. Before he left, he asked me for my e-mail address. I have not idea why, but I can only say that I gave him mine. Can this get worse? Yes, it can. My e-mail address is my name. My real name. So, I gave this dope my name. Aye yai yai. I should have just asked him for his and left it at that. I'm too old for this. I really am.
> 
> I shouldn't forwarn you, but I'm going to, I don't have any more chapters written. I had big plans to write them yesterday and today (Monday and Tuesday). I had the days off work. But, instead of producing, I did jack. (For you Brits and Aussies, that means jack shit which means "nothing." I think your expression is I did sweet fuck all. I even half watched a few minutes of The View. Crazy waste of time. Then, Harry came on. (Another daytime talk show but with Harry Connick, Jr.) I don't even remember what they talked about on The View. On Harry, the audience asked him for advice. I don't remember one thing he said, except that he didn't seem to answer their questions. Totally vague and non-responsive answers. Like a question might've been, "I'm going to my best friend's wedding and I hate her husband. Should I tell her?" He would've answered something like, "Weddings are beautiful, especially in July. Have you been to New Orleans? I'm from there. Oh, and I'm a famous crooner. You should buy my albums. Anymore questions?" OK. He didn't plug his music. But, he really didn't answer the questions. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read. If you ask me questions, I will answer them. I won't be evasive.

Before she knew it, her alarm rang and caused a groggy Delia to barely open her eyes. The sun shone into her flat and confirmed it was time to rise, but maybe not shine just yet. After a complete stretch and quick dog walk, Delia scurried about getting ready. The Welshwoman realised it was obviously a Weetabix and blueberry morning. 

By 8.40, Delia entered Gay’s the Word. She was the first one there being charged with the responsibility of opening up this morning. The sight of books and knick knacks welcomed her. After turning on all the cash registers and ensuring the correct amount of money was in each, Delia went to unlock the front door and turn on the neon OPEN sign. 

The day proceeded as normal with various customers reading and buying. The best times were spent with people who asked questions about the books to read. By answering questions, Delia learned more about things than she would otherwise. Besides, it usually made for interesting times hearing other people’s thoughts. 

After a full day of helping people and properly reshelving stray books, Delia finally had time to check her mobile. No texts from Pats. Disappointment flooded through. They really needed to talk. There was too much potential here to throw out in the bin. But, before she had time to contemplate whether to reach out with her own text, another customer walked in. 

Looking up from her counter, Delia greeted . . . Mona? In all the time she’d worked here, Delia had never seen Mona. 

“Good afternoon, Mona. How can I help you?”

“Oh, you. I have some books I want to return.”

Suspecting this wouldn‘t be the normal transaction, Delia responded, “OK. Please let me see them.”

Handing over two hard cover books, “Here,” Mona presented the books for return.

“Let’s see. ‘The Art of the Deal’ and ‘People: Chess Pieces or Companions. The Choice is Yours. Make it a Good One’. I’m not familiar with the second book. Where did you say you found it?”

“I didn’t. They were gifts. I’d like to return them a full refund as I do with all my gifts.”

Placing the self-help book onto the counter and first looking at Mr Trump’s book, Delia noticed it was rough around the edges. She fanned it out and a bookmark fell to the floor rather like a weighted feather. Looking at the pages, there were smudges and even a few bright yellow highlights. Some pages were dog eared. Without saying anything, Delia picked up the “Chess Pieces vs. Companions” book and found it was in a similar state.

Trying to maintain a professional demeanour Delia asked, “Do you have the credit card information so I can see if I can credit the account?”

“No, I do not.”

“Well, how about a receipt? Do you have the receipt?”

“No, I told you they were presents,” came out Mona’s gruff response.

“Let me see . . . Maybe the transaction will be on the computer.” Clicking some keys and moving the mouse about, Delia searched and searched the database without success. “I’m sorry, but it looks like these books weren’t bought here. When were they bought?”

Not to be deterred, Mona replied, “Around the holidays. I paid full price. I want jacket price refund.”

Eyebrows raised and curious just how far this could go Delia stated, “I thought you said these were gifts.” 

“Can’t I buy myself gifts?”

Thinking to herself, Delia internally chanted, “The customer is always right. The customer is always right.” Really? Always?

Mona looked at her watch and gave out an exaggerated sigh, “I have to be somewhere, so if you wouldn’t half mind, reach in your till and refund my money.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re a boutique store and we don’t carry either of these books. They even have the Goodwill sale sticker on the inside cover. They were not bought here. Besides, they’ve clearly been read. I can’t help you,” Delia explained suspecting this was not the end.

“I want to speak with the manager.” Her face reddening and hands clenching. “You’re obviously still burned because I won’t let you slobber over a bunch of puppies.”

“I am the acting manager today.”

Reaching into her purse, Mona took out her mobile and pointed it at Delia to film the exchange. “So, you will not stand by your product? You bring dishonour to your store Gay’s the Word. Yes, Gay’s the Word. Beware Public, this establishment, Gay’s the Word, refuses to refund my money.”

Nearly having lost all patience, Delia pasted on the best smile she could considering the circumstances, “Thank you for coming in, ma’am. It’s 3.00 and we’re closing up.” Before she lost her chance, Delia took out her mobile and filmed Mona and scanned over the books with their highlights and dog eared pages. 

Looking startled at the audacity as she swiveled on her right heel to leave, Mona warned, “You have not heard the last from me.”

As the door closed with Mona’s exit, the space seemed suddenly larger and Delia’s chest felt less constricted. This day had not turned out as peaceful as she’d hoped. Locking up the door, Delia began to count the money from the registers to prepare for closing up shop.

On her way out, Delia’s mobile chimed an incoming text. Feeling uplifted, she unlocked and looked in for the latest text, hoping it was from Pats. Her hopeful mood sank to disappointed when she saw it was from Mr Grisselman and then Delia plummeted to guilty for preferring Pats over the kindly gentleman. 

“Della, how about food and a dog? Just not dogfood or dog as food.”

This brought a smile to her face. “Sounds perfect. What would you like me to bring?” Delia started heading home to pick up Churchy for their unexpected outing. 

“Just yourself and your dog. I have some frozen meals.”

“Great. I’ll be there in a jiffy.“ 

Never one to go anywhere empty handed, Delia picked up some biscuits and headed to Mr Grisselman’s for an afternoon of dog frenzied fun.

Within the hour, Delia was knocking on Mr Grisselman’s door. Unlike her last visit, the door opened wide and she was immediately welcomed in. “You arrived so quickly. I haven’t started supper yet. But, come to think of it, how about we have a look at your doggie.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Grisselman. Thank you for inviting us over. Such a nice surprise. This is Churchy. His favorite things are being around people and, of course, attention.”

“Wonderful,” the elderly gentleman stated as he reached down to scratch around Churchy’s ears. With an open mouth and a big floppy tongue, the dog and his new friend got acquainted. “Such a sweet boy! Let’s play ball. You like to play ball, Churchy?” 

The friendly tone of the words caused Churchy to release a pleased bark.

Turning his chair around, Mr Grisselman started to manoeuvre further into his home. “Follow me. Since I have so few things anymore, I think we can toss a ball around in the lounge. No harm can come of it there.”

“Mm. I think that might be a bit risky. Churchy will just run around with the ball in his mouth. He’s clumsy, too,” Delia advised as the dog bounced into the wall seemingly just to prove her point. “Why don’t we sit and he can keep us company?” 

“Very well. Would you like something to drink? I have coffee, tea, milk and water.”

With only a moment‘s ponder, Delia responded, “Milk will be great. It will go wonderfully with the biscuits I’ve brought.”

The wheels of the chair squeaked as they moved down the hall toward the lounge. When she offered to help push the chair, Mr Grisselman declined and said guests don’t work in his home. 

Like the rest of the flat she‘d seen so far, the lounge was rather dark with all the wood paneling. There was a large sofa and a comfortable looking chair. Along one wall was a wooden bookcase with various volumes of books, pictures, and even a globe. Not having seen one in years, Delia immediately went to the globe and said, “This is amazing. It feels like I can hold the whole world in my hands.”

“Yes. I am fond of that globe. It’s outdated now, but for general information, it still applies,” he smiled. “If you want, I can show you a secret that almost no one has ever seen.” 

Enjoying feeling welcomed, the brunette responded, “Who doesn’t want to know a secret?”

“Press on England and with your other hand, press on Italy.”

Delia did as instructed. Suddenly, several trails of lights appeared webbing out from England to various different locations throughout the globe. “What’s this?”

“That documents many of the places around the world that I have visited. I had this globe specially made for me not long after I started out in my business ventures as a shipbroker.” Reaching down to pet a pleading dog, “I wanted to remember my life. I figured where I’ve been was a good start to remembering what I‘ve done.”

“That’s remarkable.” With impressed eyes that took in all the lines, Delia asked, “Why press on England and Italy?”

“Ah, my father was English and my mother Italian. I knew I’d never forget that, so I chose those places as jumping off points.”

“That is so interesting. I see you’ve been to many plac . . .” Delia stopped midsentence as she noticed a framed picture of a young woman looking strikingly like Pats, but with blonde hair. “Hm. Who’s this?” as she pointed to the picture of the probable Patsy.

“Oh, she’s my niece. Why do you ask?”

Suddenly feeling like an intruding inspector, Delia asked, “Your niece? I didn’t know you had any relatives. You didn’t say so last year when we helped you at the Legal Clinic?” 

“Well, she’s not really my niece. She just feels like it. Do you know her?”

“I . . . Yes, I do. A little. We meet at dog training. I’m sorry to butt in where I don’t belong.”

Mr Grisselman turned his chair around and moved toward the furniture. “Not a problem. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll go get you that milk I promised you.”

Delia moved to the couch and sat herself down and decided to delay further questions for another time, “That would be lovely.”

The rest of the afternoon took a brighter turn after Delia ignored her host’s relationship with Pats. She did wonder if Pats knew Delia had helped Mr Grisselman. Another time and she would ask. In this moment, it seemed more polite to enjoy the company and avoid an inquisition.

After another hour or so, Mr Grisselman started to yawn and Delia understood this to mean her time to leave had come. “You have been so hospitable. Thank you so much. Dinner was delicious and your company terrific.”

“You have made an old man happy. I can‘t remember the last time I had so much fun. I would love you have you again for a repeat visit.”

“I would enjoy that. Next time why don’t I bring some takeaway? I know a small shop near here that sells curry,” Delia suggested.

After they made better than vague but not specific plans, Mr Grisselman showed Delia to the door where she left after expressing an appreciative goodbye. Now that Mr Grisselman was no longer diverting her attention from her troubles, Delia realized she’d not gotten word from Pats. It had been almost an entire day since the confusing and disappointing end to their otherwise delightful evening the day before. Delia was becoming increasingly anxious and tried to will her mobile to ding in a message. She knew she wanted to connect with her friend, but it was clearly Pats’ play after being abruptly asked to leave. For now, Delia was resolved to try to ignore the growing tension in her stomach and resist the temptation to ring Pats. So, Delia headed home feeling dejected despite the pleasant evening with Mr Grisselman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope your day was and will always be pleasant. Shoot. Why limit ourselves to pleasant? I hope they're better than pleasant. Not every day can be fantastic or then they become normal since something can only be fantastic by comparison. (See. I did major in philosophy.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is July 25, 2018 at about 7:25 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. There are 2,328 words to this Chapter.
> 
> Patsy meets with one of her clients to go over a painting she's found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much news to add here today. But, before I try to let you in on the secret life of just another person, I want to take this time to again thank J Dog for all his help with this story. He's been very generous listening to me and pointing out typos. There are so many. I never would've thought me capable of them. I suspect someone is sabotaging my work. I haven't found the culprit, but you are all suspects. Apologies will be accepted Monday morning through Monday mid-morning in 2010. That's right. Time travel is necessary for this contrition because if I could travel backwards, I would correct all my mistakes before posting them.
> 
> Now, for latest thoughts. I was in my bed the other night. Peacefully avoiding turning off the light before committing to sleep. I heard my neighbor upstairs cough. This is not a noise I find comforting. Sure, he's alive and that's swell, but his noise intruded into my space. Sure, coughing isn't really a big deal for most. But, as you might suspect, it isn't the coughing sound that bothers. It's the fact that if I can hear it, I will also be able to hear other sounds. It's that mental connection I can't prevent my mind from making. If I can hear him cough, I can hear him pee. And . . . I have. From having heard him urinate, it has come to my consciousness that the sound of a man urinating travels farther than the sound of a woman urinating. Makes sense. Men stand. Women do not. (Correction, some women do squat over public toilets for obvious reasons. But, this doesn't usually happen in one's own home.) So, by standing, the stream hits that toilet water harder. I don't know physics, so I am certain I was listening to a man urinate and not a woman. Mind you, either would be unwelcome noises to my ears.
> 
> I should be grateful, truth be told. My former neighbors used to alternate fighting with having sex. Not in consecutive days, but it did happen. For one of their last arguments, I heard him yelling, "I don't want to fucking spend my life with you!!" On another occasion, he'd been yelling and she finally left the apartment. A moment later, he threw something on the floor and screamed, "Fuck!" It honestly startled me and kind of scared me. I do not welcome these aural intrusions. After they moved out, I rejoiced and lit some candles in thanks to the goddess of silence and peace.
> 
> There are, of course, beautiful sounds in my life. "Here's your paycheck" comes to mind. Or, this classic, "You're an awesome person, Jeign. Here's a monument made in your honor. The townsfolk all pitched in and bought it after collectively recognizing your fabulousness. Sorry we took so long." I would be remiss if I left out, "Let me clean your apartment. It'd bring me great joy to do this for you every week at no expense." 
> 
> So, with this, I thank you for reading my contribution to the Patsy and Delia content.
> 
> Humbly,
> 
> Jeign Dough

Patsy moved about her home quickly so as to avoid her mind from wandering to the previous night’s nightmare and its precipitating conversation with Delia. Coffee was a must, food could wait. No time for lolling over a bowl of porridge. So, instead, Patsy was focussing on the details of her routine. With her steaming mug of a fresh brew carried about with her, Patsy washed up and ticked of every small accomplishment. Teeth. Check. Shower. Check. Makeup. Check. Bun the hair. Check. All successfully completed. Outfit? No. Which outfit? Something practical that must ooze “accomplished art broker.” What could that be? She could move about freely in the emerald green pantsuit. The colour went so well with yellow. A yellow fabric. A flowery yellow fabric just like the one Delia wore when they met. She was so cute and . . . Stop it! Grey trousers with suspenders and a tailored blouse it would be. 

With only a few more slipups, Patsy was able to leave and make her way to her client’s home for their meeting at half nine. Normally, Patsy wouldn’t go straight to a client’s home after only a few meetings, but Miss Forrest came highly recommended, so she wasn’t likely to be a serial killer. 

Miss Forrest had been looking for an original Roy Lichtenstein for quite some time. One day, after all hope had been nearly lost, Miss Forrest’s personal assistant, Sally Gogert, chanced upon Patsy at a gallery showing of various 1960’s pop artists’ works. Patsy and Sally knew each other professionally for some time. Sally worked with clients who were big in the art world either as artists themselves or collectors. They chatted and Patsy went straight to work. In just a few weeks, Patsy found what she believed would fit the bill. It was a painting of a young crying woman with yellow hair and bright red lipstick. It was a stunning piece and an amazing find. Patsy was certain she’d found what Miss Forrest wanted.

Upon arriving at Miss Forrest’s house with photographs in hand, Patsy rang the bell and waited. Patsy noticed the potted plants filled with blooming daffodils. Someone lovingly cared for these plants. The reward was five gorgeous sets of blooms. Eventually, sounds of heavy footsteps made their way to Patsy’s ears. With the click of a solid lock on the door, Patsy stood up even straighter and pasted on her best all business smile.

The door swung open revealing a short, youthful woman with nearly jet black hair. “May I ask who you are?”

“Hello. I’m Patience Mount. I have come to speak with Miss Forrest about a business matter. I believe she is expecting me.”

“Yes. I am Constance. You are right on time. Please follow me,” and the door was opened further.

Patsy was ushered into the home and brought straight to a large room with two dark brown leather chairs. Waving her right arm for Patsy to take a seat in one of the two chairs, “Would you like some cognac while you wait? Miss Forrest is finishing up her meditation session and should be in after breakfast and her bath.”

“No, thank you. If it’s alright, I wouldn’t mind waiting in here.” Patsy hoped her voice came across as sincere rather than slightly annoyed for the wait. The time was half nine and the list of Miss Forrest’s activities seemed like an entire routine rather than last minute, unavoidable interruptions.

Looking a little judgemental, “Should you change your mind, there is a bell by the door. I can return with a cocktail. It’s no worry.”

“I’ll ring if I become parched.”

Constance gave a barely perceptible nod acknowledging the conversation and closed the door behind her.

Having thoroughly prepared, Patsy had little to do. She absentmindedly took out her mobile and glanced, noting the absence of missed calls and texts. A wave of disappointment flashed through her leaving a heavy feeling in her chest. Delia hadn’t tried to contact her. Perhaps Patsy had been too harsh and overreacted to Delia’s inquisitiveness. Delia had such an open, honest expression as she shared her internet find that Patsy had been involved in a fundraiser while at LSE. Without meaning to, Patsy abruptly shot down any opportunity to share a little of herself. Instead, she’d cut the evening short and run her knew friend out of her home. Maybe she was wrong. Why would Delia share the information with apparent joy if she had nefarious motives? 

Before she knew what she was doing, Patsy started to scroll through her contacts for Delia’s number. Her fingers were working on their own without Patsy’s permission as they pressed on the number. She heard ringing. After the fourth ring without an answer, Patsy reached to disconnect just as she heard, “Hello?” sound through the speaker. Glad that she ended the call, she breathed a sigh of relief for having a blocked number. 

This would not do. Patsy was acting like an impulsive schoolgirl. She stuffed her mobile away. This was not the time to ponder what ifs and why nots. To avoid wandering through this distraction from her purpose, Patsy pulled out her folder and worked over the numbers she already knew. Lichtenstein’s work cost dearly. The piece she’d found had been authenticated. A true collector would jump at the chance to own it despite its asking price. Patsy thought she might be able to negotiate a better deal due to her growing reputation as a serious broker. But, Patsy was beginning to doubt Miss Forrest’s seriousness about the matter. Forty minutes had passed without a sound from outside the room. All her thoughts and number crunching made the time sail by.

Patsy knew art collectors could be fickle. Really, it seemed that way with artists themselves, too. It was probably her least favorite part of her job. But, when she found the perfect painting that matched up with her client, and the sale completed, a feeling of deep satisfaction always washed over her. It was that feeling more than the money that motivated Patsy. Helping distribute beautiful works of art to collectors who would care for them. 

But, this Miss Forrest may not be a serious collector. Yoga, breakfast and a bath. That was a long list. Patsy moved toward the bell by the door. Just as her long finger had nearly reached the bell, the door opened and Constance entered.

“Miss Forrest will see you now.”

“Wonderful. In here?”

“No. She never comes in here. Follow me, please.”

The home was much larger than it had first seemed. One would almost need a map to find her way back. They passed several rooms until they neared a white room with gymnasium flooring. An odd choice for a home, but Patsy wasn’t the designer or living in it. 

“Constance, introduce us,” the apparent Miss Forrest instructed.

“Yes, Madam. This is Patience Mount. Patience Mount, this is Miss Forrest.”

“You may leave, Constance.”

“Thank you, Madam.“ After curtseying, Constance backed out of the room so that she continued to face Miss Forrest while leaving the two alone to discuss business.

Turning her head to Patsy, “Well, you’re Patience?”

“Hello, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Forrest,” Patsy stated while trying to hide her disbelief at the unusual formality. “Please call me Patsy.

“Indeed. As you know, I am interested in purchasing a Lichtenstein. I haven’t one in my collection. I think it’s time I do. You have found one I understand? I would like to see it.”

“Yes. I have a photo here, and a spreadsheet showing various prices for comparable paintings by Lichtenstein. I believe we can negotiate a lower price if you wouldn’t mind paying in cash. If not, we can perhaps negotiate better terms than the Bank of London through another smaller bank.”

“My dear, money talk is rather gauche this early in the morning, don’t you think?”

Thinking this was the reason for the meeting, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend. Why don’t you look at the picture and let me know what you think. If it pleases you, we can then discuss the cost.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. The cost is not an object. My only concern is that it fits on my bedroom wall at eye level so that it covers up my dead husband’s ex-wife’s portrait of her prized greyhound bitch.”

That was a lot of words strung together. Patsy had to repeat them in her head a couple times to make sure she knew their meaning. Patsy puzzled why Miss Forres didn’t just remove the portrait of the dog and put the Lichtenstein wherever she liked.

Seemingly reading her mind, Miss Forrest offered, “The portrait is on the wall. In order to not lose trust funding, I am not permitted to paint over it or damage it in any way. I figured another painting over it, no matter how tacky, would suffice.”

Even though her pitch raised slightly, Patsy managed to enquire with apparent sincerity, “Excuse me, tacky?”

“Have you seen his pictures? They’re cartoonish. I mean literally. They’re cartoons.”

Mindful that Miss Forrest was her client, “Yes. They’re pop art. Parodies.”

“This does not concern me. How big is the piece you found? Is it one by one metres? That should be sufficient to cover up that ghastly bitch.”

Looking at her paperwork, stalling for time, since Patsy knew the painting and its dimensions. “Well, Miss Forrest, let me see . . . I think it is size appropriate.”

“Good. I am very busy. Constance should escort you out. Just ring the bell. Miss Gogert can arrange the exchange later. I have a date with a dashing fellow of 22, and I only want to be thirty minutes late for him. He seems promising by all accounts.”

“Thank you for your time. I look forward to helping you further.”

Miss Forrest didn’t respond as she sat on the floor with her back to Patsy and her legs straight out in front and started to . . . snore? 

As quietly as she could, Patsy went to the door and rang the bell. Not a moment later, Constance opened the door and ushered Patsy back through the maze and out the front. The two did not share a word during the long walk, which gave Patsy time to ponder to herself whether she would go forward with this deal. She had never backed out, and it could mar her reputation in the art collecting community. But surely the brokers knew just how odd Miss Forrest was. Then again, Patsy hadn’t. Just after stepping over the threshold to the outside world, Patsy recognised that she needed to do some research. She needed to Google Miss Forrest. Then, she remembered she didn’t know Miss Forrest’s first name.

“Constance, what is Miss Forrest’ full name?”

“Evergreen Forrest.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day. Here is my card.”

“No need. Miss Forrest has all your information. Well, Sally Gogert does. She takes care of those things.”

“Very well. Thank you again. I hope to see you again, soon.”

Constance closed the door without another word. Patsy took out her mobile and saw that it was nearly eleven. She opened up her web browser and googled Evergreen Forrest knowing it might be tricky trying to find out much information about her given her name. So, she input “widow” and presto up came some information. Delia was right. Googling was easy and fruitful. Apparently, Miss Forrest inherited her fortune from her late husband, Mr Nedgard Von Klausmann, a wealthy investor in real estate. He had evidently died from lead poisoning after having to live in one of his tenement homes for the better part of a year as part of a criminal conviction for being a slumlord. He was not permitted to leave the decrepit home for the entirety of his sentence, nor was he allowed to make any upgrades in his unit. The paint on the walls was lead based and he began licking on a bet with one of his golfing mates. Mr von Klausmann had sworn the walls were safe, and his friend disbelieved this. So, if the housebound inmate licked the walls everyday for his entire sentence and filmed it on Facebook Live, all his legal bills would be paid. Not one to turn down a bet, after all it was how he married his beloved Evergreen, the convict accepted the challenge. After several months, he started to have gastrointestinal difficulties and then his memory became spotty. Since he was not guarded, no one witnessed the gruesome side effects of the poisoning until it was too late. After he died, the ordeal became very scandalous. Miss Forrest, then Mrs Nedgard von Klausmann, sued for all she could get. And got she did. Prior to his demise, Mr von Klausmann had been fairly wealthy. After his death, his widow became grossly wealthy. Friends and neighbours said the money changed her. She started to rely on assistants and started to spend money extravagantly. She threw wild parties and dated more than she didn’t. The settlement money was placed in a trust with the apparent purpose of limiting taxes.

Patsy was startled by these revelations. She felt a mixture of pity and disturbing pleasure at the soap opera aspect to it. She was not proud of her emotions. In fact she was even a little ashamed. Hadn’t she scolded Delia for doing the very thing Patsy did at her first opportunity? Not 24 hours had passed since her spat with Delia. Patsy’s shame grew. She had to make this right, but in person. The best apologies are face to face.

There was much time left to the day. For her to do this right, Patsy had to plan this out. This would mean some serious effort. Delia was worth it. She just hoped Delia thought Patsy was, too.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> September 11, 2018 at about 7:10 p.m. PDT. PDT. PDT.  
> There are 1,757 words in this Chapter.
> 
> Review:
> 
> Delia and Patsy are two women in London. Delia is studying to become a paralegal. Patsy is an art broker. Delia also works at a gay and lesbian bookstore and volunteers at the Legal Clinic. Delia has a very lovely dog, Churchill (Churchy). Delia tries to get them some dog training lessons. Delia can't because she hasn't the scratch. Patsy offers to help for free because she's a peach. Delia does meet Mona at dog training. She's very odd. Patsy and Delia spend some time together. Patsy reacts when she finds out that Delia looked her up online. Delia leaves Patsy's pad and Patsy dreams about a few incidents in her childhood with meangirl Prudence. Patsy proceeds with her day after the small row with Delia. She meets with a potential client and then vows to herself to make it up to Delia. In the meantime, Delia had work the day after Patsy's confusing anger over the computer look up. Mona comes into the bookstore and tries to wrangle some money from the store on an improper book return. No go, Mona. Delia has dinner with kindly Mr. Grisselman and is disappointed Patsy hasn't called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy Peeps. I've not forgotten my story. It's still in my head. Well, the overall what's going to happen is. Every word is most definitely not.
> 
> Since my time away from posting, I have started a new story. It is completely different from this one. It stars two characters. One is Pelia and the other is Datsy. I was going to name them Poolia and Ditzy, but those names are taken. So, I freshened up my ideas. That's about as far as I have gotten. Well, not true. I have about 2.5 pages, but that's about as far as I'm going to write down here today. My plan is to finish this one, and then get working on that one. I know the general ideas of what I want to do. So, that's something.
> 
> As for what's been going on in my life . . . Not to be too dramatic, but I was almost killed about a month ago. Perhaps I should have started with this. Well, except that maybe "killed" is too strong. I live in an apartment complex. I've said this before. I leave for work about the same time every morning. One time, on my way down the same street that I go, I saw a car behind me flashing its lights. I wondered what had happened. Since I wasn't able to rewind time, I didn't know. Chalked it up to one of life's mysteries. Not many days after that, I was on that same street headed to work. There are three lanes on this street where I drive. The posted speed limit is 45 miles per hour (mph). Sorry, non Americans. I don't know how many km per hour that is. So, there was a black Honda Civic going about 30 mph in the right lane. I moved to the middle lane and passed up that chugger. (Probably not really any slang, but I'm using it to mean that car that was chugging along at a dangerously slow speed.) I drove past the car and when I was completely safely ahead, I changed lanes back into the right lane. I wish to interject here that I am a really slow driver in general. This guy was going to slowly for me. That's how notable the thing was for me. I know I'm an 85-year-old in a not an 85-year-old's body when it comes to driving. After I returned to the right lane way ahead of Honda Man, his bright lights flashed in my rear view mirror. Suddenly, I realized that this guy is the same dope who flashed the other driver a day or two before. My story was complete. Not so fast! There's more. Remember. I was almost KILLED. OK, not killed. So, every few days, I see this guy driving around crazy slowly. I try to stay away from him. I mean, it's really weird stuff. He just so happens to live in my complex. So, my lucky self sees him more often than I'd like. I've been behind him as he screeches out of the complex and onto the street only to then creep along the busy street. I just don't get it. I have seen him several times poking along the 45 mph road. Well, one day, I was at the stop light in the left turn lane waiting to go onto the 45 mph street. After a few moments, I see weirdo pointing a gun at me. I was astonished. He was in the car behind me, and I saw him in my rear view mirror. He then pointed his gun to the left and to the right at the cars moving on the cross street. I then saw that it was a radar gun and not a gun gun. I considered calling the police, but what are they, what can they do? As far as I can tell, no crime's been committed. But, I was almost KILLED. OK. Not killed. It wasn't a real gun gun. I was just amazed. I have no idea what's going on in this guy's head. I just know that I am happy every day that I don't see him. 
> 
> Not much else going on here in my humble abode. Just the air conditioner and my desire to post this chapter. Ciao for now.

Patsy knew she was a very goal orientated woman. She focussed her sites and hit her targets almost every time. She was accepted into the London School of Economics a year early and created her own major in Art Dealings in Modern Times. By the time she graduated Magna Cum Laude, dozens of other students selected her major and many more were showing interest. She bought her flat with her own money from her own business as a fairly successful art broker. Despite her history of successes, today she was not able to access her creative side. She simply could not devise an appropriate apology for Delia. After sweating for over two hours on her latest failed effort, a colourful bouquet of balloons with messages and various flowers glued to it throughout, Patsy took a hairpin and popped six of them in quick succession. Feeling dramatic and defeated, Patsy flung herself onto her settee and draped her left arm across her eyes. She had to concentrate. The clock chimed a new hour, taunting Patsy that time had become her enemy and had stolen itself away. 

Patsy arose to brew some coffee. Caffeine was sure to do the trick. It had to because nothing else had. Opening up her cupboard, she saw Folgers. Not a staple in the Mount home, but not feeling deserving of anything better, Patsy scooped out some already ground beans from the ancient can. As she poured them into a mug, she was struck with an idea. Not wanting to waste another moment, Patsy got her keys, ran to the door, and raced towards Delia’s. It was already late evening. Surely Delia would be home. 

Winding her way from street to street, hoping desperation would kick adrenaline into gear, Patsy screeched about for forty minutes. Ultimately, luck was on her side. She saw the familiar signs and landmarks. Patsy slowed down and lightly bumped the sage bush in front of Delia’s. Breathing rapidly, she forced herself to slow down as she got out of her Mini and walked to the door. She wanted to wait until her breath normalised, but excitement wouldn’t allow it.

Three determined knocks on the door and just one ring of the bell. That was self-control. After what seemed like forever, the front light turned on and the door slowly opened.

“Patsy? I wasn‘t sure if I‘d ever see you again.”

Rapidly, so as not to lose her nerve, “Delia, hello. How are you? I’ve been dreadful. I should never have reacted the way I did. You did nothing wrong. I am so sorry. Please accept my apology. Please. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t. I’ve been a wreck about this.” Hoping these words, her bouquet of sincerity, were enough since she had no actual bouquet of balloons.

Wanting to know more, Delia stated in a stilted fashion, “Would you like to come in.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Opening the door enough to allow entry, Patsy made a step inside, and the two somewhat awkwardly stood inside for a moment avoiding eye contact. 

Churchy licked at Patsy’s trousers without hesitation. 

Breaking the tension just a little, “Oh, dear. Churchill. Stop that. Come here.” Delia bent down and picked him up, rubbing his jowls. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be happy to clean those for you.”

Still with just fleeting glances, “No need. They were ready to launder. Besides, it looks like my work is not done. ‘Walk, sit, and stay’ don’t appear to be enough. Perhaps, ‘No licking lessons’ are needed.”

The remnant of her smile fading but not quite disappeared, the Welshwoman lilted out, “What’s going on? I mean with you. With us? Not with Churchy.”

Clearing her throat and looking just to above Delia’s eyes, “Hmm. I, uh, see, I’m at a loss for words. I’m so sorry I overreacted. You did nothing wrong. Much of today I’ve been struggling to find the right way to apologise to you. I came up with nothing. I wanted to write a song, a poem, a story. Anything. Paint a picture. I even considered a dozen balloons each with a different expression of remorse. Nothing seemed right. So, I couldn’t stop myself. I came here unannounced. Yet another reason to be sorry. They’re mounting up.”

“It’s just that I’ve had a really bad experience with someone looking into my life via the internet. Well, that and all that was associated with that person. It was a long time ago. You looking into my past in that way, well, it brought me back. It was me, not you.” Getting that off her chest, she hoped it was enough because the ugly facts of her childhood were not conducive to a happy conversation.

Delia found a break in this rush of words and pushed herself in a little. “Oh, Pats. You don’t have to win me over with gifts. You did it when you first agreed to go to the dog park with me. You were so . . . so . . . I don’t know . . . you were so sweet. Played catch with a stranger and her dog.”

Seeing that Patsy was loosening up just a little, “Look. Look at me. If I do something, ever, that’s invasive or intrusive or any other word that means the same thing, let me know. Really.”

Finally daring to give a glance at the shorter woman rather than the painted walls, “Delia, I have to tell you. I’m not good at this sort of thing. I mean, you saw that first-hand last night. Sometimes I get flustered when I’m with someone who’s . . . who’s . . . well, you. When I’m with someone who’s you.”

Smiling enough to bring out dimples one and two, “Come over here,” Delia reached out and put her hand on Patsy’s arm. “I’m just a regular person. Talking to me is easy. I do it all the time.”

Feeling the warmth on her arm gave her some courage so that she finally gave real eye contact for the first time since arriving. Patsy saw the sincerity in Delia’s eyes. The warmth. The reasons she was there that day. “I’m not good at this. I am sorry. I’m sorry I blew that whole trifle out of proportion. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner today. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to be real.”

“Pats, if I don’t do this now, I’m going to regret it . . .” Patsy felt Delia’s hand moving down to hook into her belt loop and gently tug her forward. She saw Delia leaning up. Patsy’s eyes focused on full, slightly opened lips. She swallowed as her friend closed the gap between them. Their lips were barely open, leaving just enough room for their tongues to meet. Delia was soft, and she fit perfectly. The surrounding lights and sounds, Churchy’s body rub, all of it seemed to disappear as Delia’s arms wrapped around to pull them closer together. Delia was so much warmer than she’d had imagined. As the brunette’s hands moved to the small of Patsy’s back, the ginger moaned. Delia seemed encouraged as she full on hugged Patsy, kissing her more fervently.

Taking a breath, Delia asked, “Why don’t you really come in?” 

Quietly, Patsy answered, “Yes. I’d like that.”

Taking her fingers, Delia turned around just enough, so she could lead Patsy into the lounge and to the couch.

“Where were we? . . . Yes, you were teaching me how to breath underwater,” smiled the Welshwoman.

“I guess I am quite the teacher. First dog training and now swimming lessons . . . At least these ones don’t cost twenty pounds,” Patsy joked.

Sweetly caressing the ginger’s cheek, Delia quietly noted, “Twenty? Well, if the training had been twenty, I might never have met you.”

“Of course, it was twenty. That’s the price that was set,” Patsy quietly corrected. “Wait, what price did you think it was?”

Confused over the importance of this topic, but not wanting to be disruptive, “Forty. It was forty quid. The sign clearly indicated ‘Forty Pounds Brings ‘Em Round.’ Anyway, why does this matter now?” Delia leaned in again for a return to their recent snogging.

Patsy stiffened and with a stern look in her eyes said, “We were only supposed to charge twenty. Ten of it was going to go to the Royal SPCA and the remainder was for overhead. Mona was a volunteer like I am. The adverts were to have said twenty and not forty. Are you sure it was forty?”

Still holding out some hope, “Pats, it was forty. But, if I say it was twenty, can we forget the twenty/forty discussion and get back on track? I was rather enjoying the prior activity. Anyway, I’m using my best moves. If these don’t work, we’re in trouble.”

“I’m serious, Delia. Did you print out the information you found about Mona? I’d like to read it over, if you don’t mind.”

With a deep sigh, “I do have it. What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure. Didn’t you say you have her address? I think I’d like to pay her a visit. I need to speak with her about this.” Sitting up straighter and now completely separate from Delia, “She was collecting the fees. If she really did charge forty pounds, then I need to know what happened to the extra funds. We’re a not-for-profit enterprise. My name is now attached, and I need to keep it clean.”

“Let me see. I have the information here somewhere . . .” Delia pushed herself up and crossed the room to her satchel where she rustled through some paperwork. “Here it is. ‘Mona Windger.’ If you’re going to make a trip of this, I’d like to join you. I really want to press her about meeting Churchy’s puppies.”

“Certainly. I would appreciate the company.” Looking at her mobile, Patsy noticed the time. “I think it’s too late to make an impromptu visit tonight. Will you be busy tomorrow?”

“No.”

“OK. I’ll pick you up and driv . . . Would you mind driving?”

“Pats, it’ll be my pleasure.”

“Great.” Holding out her hand for Delia to take, Patsy blushed while she said, “Now, let me see those trademark moves again. If recent memory of your signature style serves me, I’m pretty sure we’re not in trouble.”

With the biggest smile Delia had, “I’m saving the best for later.”

“We’d better get cracking, because I can’t wait.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is October 14, 2018 at about 5:28 PDT (nearly PST, I want to add).  
> There are 2,359 words to this chapter.
> 
> Delia and Patsy go to find Mona at her home. What they find is disturbing and unexpected.
> 
> Trigger Warning: I am not fond of Trigger Warnings. I think the story should unfold as it is and I shouldn't know what might come. That being said, there is some unpleasantness with regard to animal neglect. (I apologize to those who do not like Trigger Warnings. I am with you, my sisters.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moods come and go. I do question why we must have bad ones. To say we need bad moods so we can appreciate good moods is total bullshit. I think you might know where I'm falling on the mood spectrum at the moment. I'm almost in the Red Zone. Things aren't being thrown, screams are not being heard. I'm just paying a big price for having had a two week vacation. It was glorious. But, that was yesterday. (In a manner of speaking. It was like a week and a half ago that Heaven closed itself off to me and flung a piles of shit my way.) Today, I have tons of catching up to do. I went into work today and am just not having it. It wasn't that bad, but I don't feel I accomplished much. So, the stress has not been alleviated. I am going to make a silent vow, right now, to never go on vacation again. Sure, they're lovely while they're happening. But, are they worth it? Not right at the moment. Kind of like eating a box of chocolates. You know exactly what you're going to get. A full stomach, rotten teeth, and rolls of fat. But, before all that settles in, you have sweet bliss sloshing around in your mouth, on your tongue and down your gullet. The joy is pure, but short-lived. The replacement is cruel and often has longer lasting effects than the creamy delight that melts in your mouth, and in your hand, and on your car seat. Oh, it just melts all over. I'll stop complaining for now. Just beware, it could happen again. I don't know where I'm going with this intro today, except that I wanted to share a short story of today reverts me back to yesterday. (No relation to chocolate and work stress.)
> 
> Today Reverts to Yesterday.
> 
> Last Tuesday, I awakened at my usual and unfriendly hour - about 6:53 a.m. I don't remember if it was the alarm that blared me awake or if my aging body that refuses to give me a full night's sleep rustled me conscious. Anyway, I did my morning routine. One of the last things I do is put on my top/blouse/shirt. It looked down and noticed that it had a seam across my chest. I didn't think much of it because I was getting ready and didn't have time for details that normally don't interest me. Fashion is not my style. So, I finished preparing for the day and off I went to work. Ready to face the day and the public. I went about various work activities for many hours. Went to lunch as I always do with my boss and co-worker. We went to a steak restaurant as we always do on Tuesdays. I ordered the Steakhouse Cobb Salad with the bacon on the side. I am a creature of habit. Lunch was eaten and we each paid. Off we returned to work. About two and a half more hours passed. I know this because it was at just about 4:00 p.m. when I felt a little itchy just under the top of my blouse/top/shirt. I reached in to scratch with the utmost of professionalism. I'm going to say no one was watching. My scratch accomplished its goal and the itch was one. In its place was the sudden awareness that my top/blouse/shirt was on backwards. You see, the tag rubbed me the wrong way on my high chest just below my neck. I went to the bathroom (skipped to my loo) and reversed the top/blouse/shirt. 
> 
> At that very moment, I was reminded of my childhood. When I was about 7, we were sitting in an assembly. It was probably the entire grade. I was on the floor with my legs crossed over each other, Indian style. I looked down at the carpet between my legs and saw my feminine parts sans underwear (knickers) through my dark tights. I'm sure I blushed a bright red. Somehow, I got permission to go to the front office to call my mom. I don't vividly remember, but I do vaguely remember hemming and hawing and ultimately having to fess up about my dress mishap. My mom rescued me and brought me underwear for the day. At this advanced age, I wish I could've thought to say to her, "Look, Ma. No pants!"
> 
> This last line is a joke that needs explaining, probably. Those are the best kind of jokes. The ones no one understands. In America, there is an expression, "Look, Ma. No hands!" It's used when someone wants to show off to one's mother because he/she is riding a bike without hands. Now, in Britain, "pants" means underwear. And, to have said, "Look, Ma. No pants" sounds like "Look, Ma. No hands." It's not that I would really have been showing off having forgotten my underwear, but the idea of making fun of the situation at the time, had I the maturity to realize it really wasn't a big deal to have forgotten my panties, would've been quite amusing. I missed my opportunity for a pretty good line. Well, I was about 7.
> 
> One last funny thought: I went to see "One Day at a Time" filmed. Fun time. There was a comedian who had to keep all amused in between takes. About 6 or so hours of being there. He kept it so we'd laugh during the filming of the show. I came to think of him as our comedy fluffer considering he kept us all happy. (In porn, the "fluffer" keeps the men hard in between takes. (See why this is a T rating?)

Something wasn’t right, yet it also wasn’t wrong. The smells and subtle sounds were different. They were sweeter than normal. The duvet was not as heavy as Patsy was used to. But, she was warm, cosy, and so comforted that she didn’t want to open her eyes just yet. All might change if she saw reality and not just the near sleep/near wake semiconscious state complete with tingling throughout her body. Then the culprit who’d taken her from the dream of what was too good to be, attacked again with a big, soppy tongue right across her face and over her eyelids. But, it must still be a dream because Patsy didn’t have a dog, though one day she might, given time and other circumstances . . . Wait. A dog? Now rational thought forced concentration forward a little more, not leaving room for drifting back to dreaming about Delia and a kiss too good to be real. Well, not just one kiss, but many. Truth coming forward, not just kissing, either. Lots of tactile connections that could only have happened in a dream. A fantastic dream. A dream that rewarded Patsy for bravely seeking out Delia and speaking her truth, for apologising. She was never the best at vulnerability. But, this time, in this dream, Patsy got to live her fantasy in a dream. . . 

“Slurp.”

Why was this tongue attack part of her dream? Move it out. Back to the basics . . . Delia and Patsy, sitting on a settee . . . k – i – s – s – i – n – g. First comes love, then comes . . . Wait. “Love?” That’s preposterous. How about first comes attraction. Then comes like. Then, comes something else practical? The dream of a dream was at an end, it seemed. Too much contemplation . . . 

“Pats? Are you awake? Would you like some breakf . . . Churchill. Stop that, little mister. This is no way to treat our guest.”

With one last tongue lashing and a warm breath of what she hoped was canned dog food, Patsy blinked her eyes open finally. This explained a lot. Her dream wasn’t a dream. She was at Delia’s. She had spent the night.

With a shy smile crossing her face, “Oh, he’s alright. Little scruffikan. But, it does seem a few more trainings may still be needed to round out the other ones.” Remembering the question, “Breakfast sounds great. Thank you.”

“Perfect. I didn’t want to wake you, so I have cereal, or I can make you eggs and fruit.” Moving her attention to the smaller toasty treat on the bed, “Off right now, Churchill Mister Man Busby.”

As though to leave an impression of his feelings about the admonishment, Churchill wiggled off the bed while expressing his discontent through a few whines and droopy dog eyes.

“Cereal would be great. You know, Delia, I had a dream that this was a dream. That’s how great I feel right now. So good it could almost only happen in my subconscious.”

Reaching out to hold Patsy’s hand closest to her, Delia responded, “Your being here is so wonderful that I can’t remember my dreams. I guess I’d say this is a dream.”

Patsy looked down at her right hand as she turned it over to fully hold onto Delia’s for a moment. “That’s about the sweetest thing I can imagine hearing.”

Just then, Churchy leapt back onto the bed and sat on their held hands.

“I guess someone doesn’t like being left out. So, about breakfast, I have Shreddies and coffee, tea, juice. But, first,” Delia scooped up Churchy and while holding him, leant over giving Patsy a warm, lingering kiss. “I’ll be right back.” With that, Delia put Churchy back on the floor and got up to move to the kitchen area.

“How can I help?”

“By letting me know that I’ve mixed the best batch of Shreddies you’ve ever tasted.”

Patsy laid back down and looked up at the ceiling thinking about how wondrous life can be as she listened to the melodious clanking of cupboards and dishes from mere feet away.

After sharing an intimate breakfast and joint cleaning effort, Patsy insisted, they sat down to fully enjoy their morning tea.

“You know, I was thinking about Mona.” 

Delia scrunched up her face, “Now, that is a mood changer. But, you’re right. We might as well move on that. Is your car here?”

“Just out front. But, let’s stop by my place so I can change my clothes.”

After working out details, Patsy and Delia found their way to Mona’s neighbourhood. Their happy banter slowed down as they observed their surroundings. There were various vehicles parked around in different stages of repair. More and more graffiti covered fences and buildings. It was a different world from Patsy’s and even Delia’s. People were milling about on the streets without any apparent purpose. Patsy wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw an illicit transaction among a small group of young men. She wondered how they could be so brazen with the CCTV’s obvious presence. Perhaps it was the ubiquitous nature of their dealings that permitted its persistence. Patsy didn’t know. It was disheartening.

“You think this is the place?” Delia asked as she pointed to a small house on a corner with peeled blue paint. The trees in the front had clearly passed to the beyond with no hope of return. It looked like one gust of wind and they might break in two, ten even. Two of the windows were boarded up leaving the need for their iron gates long gone. Despite the frightful condition, Patsy and Delia were determined to meet with Mona. The best way was right here, right now. Better than having an embarrassing confrontation in front of the others in dog training. 

“There’s one way to find out. Well, one way in addition to the fact that the address matches the one in your records. Let’s get in there and knock,” Patsy suggested.

The two mustered up the courage needed to step out of the Mini Cooper and confront Mona. They made their way to the front door. Patsy hesitated a moment before reaching out and landing her knuckles on the door with three firm raps. They waited. They didn’t hear footsteps or the creak of the floors from inside. Patsy saw Delia nod as if to suggest another try. So, Patsy lifted her arm up again and knocked a little harder three more times. Still, no response. Patsy lifted the door knocker on the door and it sounded deep and loud. If someone was inside, she would have to hear it.

Somewhere between the first and second metallic clank of the knocker, barking and dog cries sounded from nearby. It didn’t come from inside, but it was close. As quickly as it started, it ended.

Patsy looked at Delia who puzzled back, “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. But, they didn’t sound happy. I’ll knock again. See if they do it again,” as she reached up and with more force pressed the metal knocker against the door plate.

Once again, dogs barked and cried.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like Mona is answering. She may not even be here. But, let’s see if we can find where those dogs are,” Delia took a few steps backward to survey the place. “Let’s check out the side to the left. I think I could hear the noise from there.”

Patsy nodded and lead the way to the part of the house adjacent to the side street. There was a tall wooden fence. Even though it was marked with graffiti and dirt balls, the fence was solid. In better condition than the house itself, it seemed. “Hello!” Patsy yelled out toward what appeared to be the garden in the back of the house.

In response, even more dogs barked and howled. 

Flipping over an old looking bucket, “Pats, use this to look over the fence.”

Patsy took the bucket and placed it upside down in a firm part of the dirt next to the fence. She reached up to the top of the fence for balance and stood atop the bucket. Stretching her body up as much as she could, Patsy’s eyes peered just over the fence. Her eyes widened in shock as her head flinched back down. 

Delia saw the look of shock. “What? Pats, what did you see? What is it?”

Ashen, Patsy raised her eyes to meet with Delia’s. “You don’t want to know.”

“Patsy. Tell me. I need to know. What did you see?”

With a tremulous voice, Patsy answered, “There are dogs. I don’t know how many. Lots. Lots of them. They’re ch-ch-chained up. Some of them in metal cages. Oh, Delia. Oh. It’s horrible.” And she stepped off the bucket and wiped her face to free it of tears that fell. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Many of them are emaciated. I think some of them have festering wounds. Honestly, I didn’t look long enough to see much, but just enough. We have to do something.”

Delia took a few steps to Patsy and wrapped her arms around to comfort her. “I’m so sorry. Let me do something. I’ll call the dog warden.” Taking out her mobile, Delia flipped through finding something and then dialled. 

After some minutes on hold and being routed through different menus, Delia finally reached a human being. She explained the situation and was asked to wait. Delia and Patsy returned to the Mini and sat silently staring at nothing.

Finally, a white utility vehicle pulled up and parked in front of the house. A young man in uniform stepped out with a clipboard and camera. Patsy and Delia rushed over to him introducing themselves. He shook their hands. His name patch identified him as “Bruce.” 

“Which one of you is Delia?”

“I am, sir. But, Patsy is the one who saw the dogs. Please help them. They’re very poorly.”

Bruce gave a slight nod of his head and met Patsy’s eyes to enquire about what she’d seen. After briefing him, Bruce told Patsy and Delia to wait there so he could prepare a more complete report. He walked up to the front door with the same results. No answer from a person, just dogs barking and howling. Bruce retrieved his ladder from his vehicle and peered over the fence. After counting, he jumped down quickly and pulled out his mobile urgently pounding on the face of it. “This is a Code Violet. I repeat. Code Violet. May I enter the premises now? No one has answered the door. I have not been given permission to enter by the resident. I’ve counted twenty-one canines. No water. No food. Almost all appear to be seriously ill. I repeat. May I enter the premises now?”

Patsy and Delia were stood on the kerb near the house just waiting with jaws and hands clenched. 

Bruce put his mobile back into his shirt pocket and walked toward Patsy and Delia. “I’ve been told to wait for backup. While I wait, er, Patsy? You’re Patsy, right?” Patsy gave a nod. “OK. I’ll need your information and a retelling of what you saw. Don’t leave out details, please.”

Patsy went over the story again as Bruce wrote down on his clipboard. Delia had nothing to add other than she’d heard the dogs, as well. Just as Patsy finished, another white van pulled up behind Bruce’s. Out jumped two individuals in similar uniforms as Bruce’s. Patsy and Delia were thanked for their community assistance and advised to leave for their own safety. Neighbours had gathered around and were showing interest in the goings on. Suddenly, the sounds of a siren roared, and a police car screeched to a stop on the corner. Two more officials ran over to Bruce and the other two dog wardens. They convened for a few moments. The shorter of the two constables, a stocky man with short black hair, pulled out a battering ram. After knocking one more time, he and the taller constable went around to the side, and held onto the ram, plunging it through the fence.

Bruce and company ran into the back garden and picked up dog after dog after dog.

Patsy and Delia ignored the suggestion of leaving and watched as they saw dogs being carried to the vans. The dogs looked weak, starved and were whimpering. “Oh, my G-d. What is this?” Delia whispered without expecting a response.

“We must have the wrong house. Mona cannot be this cruel. Petty? Sure. But, I hate to use the word because of the religious undertones, but, evil. This is evil incarnate. Oh, Delia. I hope this is the wrong house. I don’t want to know someone who could do this.”

Suddenly, they heard one of the constables shouting to the other, “Pete! Come here. You’re not going believe this.”

The taller constable, presumably “Pete” made his way to the other. “What have you found, Shorty?”

“Money. Loads of it in coffee cans. Look here, just under this cage. I wouldn’t have noticed it, but the pavement’s cracked and it’s been dug up. There must be thousands here. This is a bigger job than we can handle by ourselves. We need a warrant. Call it in. I’m going to cordon off the area.” Pausing for a beat and then Shorty yelled out, “Oi! You. Ginger! Would you mind coming in for some questions? Nothing formal. Just want to get as much information as we can.”

Patsy nervously responded, “Of course. Anything I can do.”

“Give me your name again and your number. Come to this address tomorrow at 9 in the morning. Sharp. Nine sharp, I mean. Waiting on others is not the gin for my tonic.”

“Yes, Officer. I’ll see you tomorrow at 9 sharp,” Patsy promised.

As the sky darkened, Patsy and Delia decided to leave the work for the professionals. There was nothing more to see other than more heinous sights of pain and greed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation. I don't spell out G-d because my religion or culture, not sure which, tells me not to. I am not religious, but I do adhere to certain customs because I just do. Makes me feel good, I think.
> 
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> If you have questions, ask I will answer. Comments welcome, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the memories!


End file.
